At the End of the Game
by LadyOfTruths
Summary: ~Complete~ Sometimes games get out of hand. Sometimes the players get lost. Occasionally players cheat. But in the end, there is only one winner. What lies at the end of the most dangerous game, after all of the rules have been broken?
1. Somewhere to Begin the End

At the End of the Game   
by LadyOfTruths  
  
Sometimes games get out of hand. Sometimes the players get lost. And occasionally players cheat. But in the end, there is only one winner. What lies at the end of the most dangerous game, after all of the rules have been broken?  
  
This story is a play on Ridley Scott's suggested alternate ending on the "Hannibal" DVD.  
****************************************************************************  
Part One : Somewhere to begin the end  
  
"I've come half way around the world to watch you run, Clarice, let me run now eh?"   
  
The metallic whisper sent jolts of electricity through her nervous system. His mouth was devilishly close to her own, his warm breath caressed her flushed cheek. Clarice Starling felt exhilarated, not an ounce of fear reflected in her eyes as his strong hands pushed her roughly against the refrigerator.   
  
Was that a question, or a statement? Clarice was lost in a cloudy haze, the morphine still heavy in her system; she could hardly manage to keep her head up. Her eyes met his in a powerful lock; she would not let him win this game, it would all end tonight, or so she forced herself to believe.   
  
Whether he took her expression as acceptance, or a pure challenge, he releases his grip on her shoulders and fell back into a stance. Clarice's mind registered her liberation swiftly, she pounced on him, her auburn ponytail dancing like a golden flame. Dr Lecter growled with a mixture of delight and frustration, his strength easily overpowering her and repeated his earlier movement, only this time he trapped her hair inside the fridge door, he then proceeded to break off the handle to prevent any further opportunities for his beautiful opponent.   
  
His eyes devoured the splendid vision she inadvertently offered, her lips small and parted trying to control quickened shallow breaths, the anguished filled azure eyes which sparkled and mirrored his whole, he saw truth in the those pools, a truth which she tried so avidly to suppress, the truth which her morals slashed and buried; the truth telling him that she was his, she wanted to be his.   
  
He chose this moment to test her stamina. A bittersweet smile overcame his features.  
  
"Tell me Clarice, would you ever say to me 'Stop, if you loved you me you'd stop'?"   
  
His words hummed in the thick atmosphere created by their dual presence.  
She needed to focus, she knew what he was doing, and it was crushing her resolve with slow second. She would never lie to him, both knew such petty indecisions are timewasters against his perception.  
  
" Not in a thousand years."  
  
It was almost a whisper, yet so piercingly loud. She hoped the near sounding sirens would prevent him from considering the depth of her response. The 'why' which she could hardly bring herself to confront.  
  
Nothing could have pleased and disappointed him collectively, he pressed on further, quickly lunging in on Clarice, baring his menacing teeth like a wild animal on attack. She didn't move, not even flinch at the sight, he looked at her and saw no fear, only challenge. He stopped a mere inch from her face *Hmm, just as well Clarice*  
  
"That's my girl" Innuendo clouded the kitchen  
  
As he approached her again, he considered his actions, he wanted to win this game as much as Clarice, they both new the stakes would be high for losing, but each were too stubborn to quit.  
  
Without fair warning, Lecter's lips lightly grazed Clarice's, both heard her breath hitch in the base of her throat.   
  
Dr Lecter felt his strength dissolve into to passion as he continued the invasion upon his precision Clarice. He was pleased when she didn't struggle or turn her head in rejection, he could see the inner battle taking place within her, the single tear which ran down her cheek was proof enough.  
  
Left with one option, Clarice produced the handcuffs from her dress and bound their wrists together.  
  
Both of their expression shifted in surprise as the mechanical 'click' echoed through the kitchen. Dr Lecter's shock was soon replaced by amusement. How he enjoyed watching her desperation, her silly little attempts to please her so-called integrity. He lifted their joined wrists and spoke matter-of-factly.  
  
" Now this is really interesting Clarice, and I'm really pressed for time. So where's the key?"  
  
Her expression remained stoic, her resolution was final and immovable. Dr Lecter grew annoyed, his patience was being stretched. Each now playing off the others reaction.  
  
"Where's the key" Anger and irritation was evident in his tone. No movement on Clarice's part.  
Without another beat of hesitancy, the good doctor grabbed the meat cleaver, used for his earlier meal preparations, and waved it in front of her.   
  
" What do you think, above or below the wrist, Clarice?" One final attempt on his part to unnerve her. Impatient with her lack of response, he touched the cleaver to her freckled wrist and then raised it to his shoulder. He took a moment to plan his next move with precision. As he glanced down, he saw uncertainty and anguish imprinted on Clarice's shapely face. He wanted to ask her so many questions at that moment, but time was dry.   
  
"This is really going to hurt" Would she really believe that he would injure his little Starling? He had to wonder, she was the most predictably unpredictable person he had met.   
  
As her eyes followed the cleaver to her wrist, Clarice felt every drip of morphine in her body. She was in a strange place, a section of time where things looked real, yet felt completely detached from reality. Her final glimpse of the doctor confirmed that he was indeed going to get himself out of here on time, at the expense of carving off her wrist as a memento. She shut her eyelids together tightly and winced at the soon-to-be-felt pain. At that moment of increased heartbeat and reflux of the nervous system, the morphine took over and she felt her body start to fall into the black abyss of unconsciousness. Her lasts thoughts were centrally focused on the man before her as her body shut down. Lecter saw Clarice's body sink limply into a pile at his feet, the cleaver sliced soundly into the cutting board.  
  
******************** End of Part One ************************** 


	2. Judge Me, Judge you.

'At the End of the Game'   
Part Two: Judge Me, Judge You.  
  
Clarice watched her father hunched over the sink, in his hands he held two oranges and a small sharp knife.  
" Daddy, why you gotta use that knife? Its too sharp, you might cut yourself."  
Her father looked toward his small daughter. A warm smile complimented his thick southern accent.   
  
" Yes Clarice, I might cut myself, but you want your orange peeled right baby?"  
A frown creased on her forehead.  
  
" But it hurts to get cut Daddy"  
  
" I know angel, but the oranges wont never get peeled if I don't use the knife. Besides, its better to enjoy what you want, even at the risk of hurting. Pain goes away Clarice."  
  
And then he was splashing water on her, it was cold...............this had never happened before... he was supposed to haul her over his arm and tickle her until she begged for mercy....  
  
Pain tugged at her left shoulder and the dizziness returned as Clarice regained consciousness and opened her eyes.  
  
"Daddy...." She mumbled as her vision cleared and she saw the blackened lake, much like the one she'd seen from the window of Krendler's home...  
'Oh God...Krendler... dead.... Dr Lecter. Panic tingled over her body with the recollection of the prior activities, which had taken place in the evening.  
  
Now she found herself in the steely embrace of the good doctor, her own body too weak to compete for sovereignty, she shifted slightly under his right arm, his hand rested gently on her hip.  
  
'His left hand.......oh god' She squinted down to look at her own hand, her right still as pale as before, unmarked, as his own. Her hand trailed his over her stomach.  
  
" Unfortunately your persistent stubbornness has left me no other choice, Clarice."   
  
His voice reached every nerve in her body, the fine hairs on her neck stood to attention with familiar eagerness.   
  
Not yet able to form a sentence, Clarice raised her head to meet the gaze of the man next to her. Sirens rang in the ear, reminding her earlier decision, they were louder now, than before, she estimated 3 minutes maximum until they reached their destination.  
  
His eyes were waiting for her attention, black dilated pupils surrounded by a pool of pale blue. For a second she saw an anxious man, an innocent lamb screaming for her help. She shivered and tried to focus.  
  
" Dr. Lecter, don't do this" Her quavering tone betrayed her cold eyes. An image of the slain Evelda Drumgo appeared in the back of Clarice's conscious thought.  
  
" I believe I have already informed you as to who's move has gotten us in this, rather uncomfortable, predicament. I'm certain you still have the key on you Clarice."   
  
A smirk began to form over his features, though his body remained tense and on the move. He was pulling at a rope anchor, bringing in a small boat to shore.  
  
" You know that I cannot do that"   
  
She was trying to stall his activities, at the same provoke discussion. There was no one in the world she would rather talk with, although she would never admit such a vulnerability, this was her favourite pass-time. Usually she talked to him in her head, she didn't want to pass up such a wonderfully presented opportunity, as disturbing as it seemed.   
  
" Well then, I suggest you hold on my dear"  
  
He roughly pulled her towards him as the boat touched shore, he lifted her off her feet and hauled her into the boat, shortly after jumping in himself. The sequence of events happened too quickly for Clarice to voice or display her protests.  
  
Dr. Lecter tied the rope in a knot and adverted his attentions to the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off distant trees, and then back to his hesitant and considerably groggy companion.  
  
" You know I'd rather throw myself onto my harpy than be re-incarcerated."  
  
His expression was intense and drilled into her. His eyes could cause more pain to her than the harpy he referenced to, which was ever presently tucked into his sleeve and cufflink.  
  
"I've already promised no one will hurt you. I'd personally see to it"  
  
She tried to sound earnest and confident, but the lines on her forehead showed her growing worry and uneasiness. As did the reflection he found in her eyes. He would remember her face like that forever.  
  
" Need I remind you Ex Special Agent Starling, that your persuasive mannerisms to protect the victim has hardly appealed to your dear friend 'the bureau'? Honestly Clarice, your ignorance grows tiresome. "  
  
" Then how would you like me to handle this situation, Dr Lecter. What to you expect from me?" Her voice was strained and the sarcasm was provocatively unintentional.  
  
" I've learnt to expect nothing from you Clarice, but I would like you to present me with the key" He abruptly raised their hands, noting Clarice's wince.  
  
" You will give me the key, Clarice, or you and I shall share the same fate."  
  
His voice was a low rumble competing with the loud crunch of gravel. Several police sedans pulled up near the clearing in front of Krendler's house.  
  
Clarice glanced over her shoulder at the arrival of her 'dear friends', she wouldn't back away from the game now, definitely not now, she was already in too deep to return to the security of denial.  
  
" No,"   
  
In any other situation, with any other person, Hannibal Lecter may have maddened at such blatant refusals, and lack of courteous explanation. But she was Clarice Starling, and this was their foolish little game.  
  
After a moment to consider his next few actions, Dr. Lecter glanced at Clarice briefly before heading to the side of the boat, facing the far side of the bank. His swift movement dragged Clarice's light form with him.  
  
" Don't say I failed to grant you a choice" His final words to her as he clamped a hand over her mouth, to silence the confused reply he knew was coming.  
  
In a half a second, both bodies made a soundless entry into the blackened water.  
The officers crowding the house failed to recognise the rippling pattern and minute air bubbles on the lake, the only evidence of lively whereabouts.   
  
***************** End of Part Two ************************  
  
I look forward to your reviews, clearly I'm still in the process of completing this piece, and I would be more than happy to read your opinions and suggestions.  
I'm a sucker for suspense, and I absolutely dread being left in the dark, I thought it only fair you should suffer the same irritation. ;) - LadyofTruths 


	3. Playing the Damned Hand

'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part three: Playing the damned hand  
  
Water enclosed around the attached bodies. It was velvety warmth, Clarice felt a moment of relaxation, she imaged herself in a womb, untouchable and completely safe.   
  
The situation she soon found herself in however, was quite they contrary.   
  
Hannibal Lecter was a sinking weight. She could see his dark head falling beneath her, although her wasn't looking up at her, she felt as though he was waiting for her to respond.   
  
In this situation, Clarice found herself considering two of such reactions. She could produce they key, which was tucked into the material at her waist, unlock the cuffs and call for backup. Or she could wait, and hope that time was going to be welcoming.   
  
The former would be risky, unbinding them would give them time apart, time, which Lecter would use wisely...or would he? She recalled what he had said earlier.  
  
'" You know I'd rather throw myself onto my harpy than be re-incarcerated."'  
  
Heaviness tugged at her stomach. What would he do if she did separate their bodies? He'd made it more than clear in establishing the fact that any form of re-capture would be intolerable on his part. The pressure change in her ear 'pinged' as she realised what he had set up.  
  
Unlocking the cuffs would grant Clarice her freedom, and his too. Her eyes twitched when he looked up at her, his gaze was partially distorted by the water pressure, nevertheless reached and locked with her own . It was her turn, her play, she would be the one to decide how this game would end.   
  
Without further thought, Clarice reached a decision. She felt the air pressure begin to crush her lungs, and her brain send a frenzy of jolts through her nervous system, demanding oxygen.   
  
' God help me'   
  
  
  
Hannibal Lecter found himself, for the first time in numerous years, confused, and quite off-balance. He had quite expected Clarice's resilience in the kitchen, she was as strong willed as himself, and for her to ask him to stop on her behalf would be feeble, and quite simply distasteful.   
  
But as for her actions now, Hannibal found himself without calculation. Surely this would be the pinnacle for her, to go beyond this point would put her life in his hands. It would be undeniably out of character for his little warrior to hand over her victorious sword.   
  
Jumping off the boat had been his planned step, once Clarice had phones the authorities. Having a companion to keep him company, however, had not been given a second thought. He had been so certain that he would be without his left thumb, he had even stored a first-aid kit in the bow of the boat. He now scolded himself for lack of due thought.  
  
When he finally looked up at her body, a familiar tingle surged his body. Above him, she looked angelic. Her hair, now loose from the tie, danced around her soft pastel face. An amber halo complimented by her intense blue gaze. He had missed that face over the past ten years. Pixel images hardly did her justice, Clarice Starling in the flesh was the one indulgence Hannibal Lecter would not relinquish. He wondered if she had thought about him with similar frequency. Even if she had, finding out would be next to impossible.  
  
These few seconds would be critical for her, she needed to retrieve the key, unbind them and flag down the officers. As of yet, she had made no attempt to do so, hence his confusion. She just continued to stare at him. They were both waiting on mutual ground, it occurred to him for that moment, that she was reading him, seeing through his plans, and challenging him to uproot his careful strategy.  
  
'Not in a thousand years' he mouthed to her as they both continued their fall into darkness.   
  
She had read his lips, he could tell from the strong imprinted frown which formed across her forehead.  
  
Clarice swept her hand over her hip to check for they key. At that moment she considered what they had both expected the *agents* reaction to be. Time had extended long enough, she was finally ready to see an end to the inevitable. If Hannibal Lecter was to go down, her only respected place would be right next to him.  
  
Clarice fell into unconsciousness for the second time that evening. Her eyes slid shut and her head fell heavily onto her shoulder. Without restraint, her body joined Hannibal's at the bottom of the lake.  
  
Dr. Lecter pulled her motionless form into his embrace, tugging for the key at her side. Tonight would mark both of them forever, tonight all of the rules of the game had changed. Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter had both lost themselves in the game, yet nothing seemed to amusing to either of them any longer.   
  
  
Oh please, a true Lecterphile would never kill the leading man, not even in the honour of suspense. I expect chapter 4 up within the next week. Thank you to all those for reviewing, I find your comments a foundation for inspiration. 


	4. A New Rulebook

'At The End of the Game'  
Part Four: A New Rulebook  
  
  
  
  
Had any other agent, as well trained as Clarice Starling herself, paid attention to the situation at hand, it would be highly possible that the two bodies embarking the far side of the bank of the Chesapeake would have been sited. After 5 minutes of intensive searching, it was found, that neither Dr. Hannibal Lecter nor Clarice Starling was in the vicinity. A brief call to Clint Pearsall found 12 agents setting up roadblocks and floating APB's for the whole state in the next 24 hours. The Bureau was determined to remove this stain from their honour for the last time. Pearsall would quote it himself.  
  
  
On the other side of the bank, Dr. Lecter gently pulled Clarice's unconscious body from the water, and rested them both behind a large bush. After checking her pulse and heartbeat for the fifth time, he had convinced himself that she had suffered from asphyxiation and the dual effect of morphine still floating through her veins.   
  
Now satisfied that she would make a healthy recovery sometime soon, he took a few moments to regain his composure and carefully plan his escape route.  
  
Being the calculating man he was, Dr.Lecter had already accounted for this evening's accommodation and travel. He had not however, been expecting the extra weight of Former Agent Starling in his arms. Not that he was complaining about the current turn of events.  
  
Once he had her in a safe, comfortable hold, he made his way along the edges of the bank, carefully camouflaging himself within the protection Mother Nature so kindly provided.   
  
After repeatedly walking several circuits, Dr.Lecter, knowing that forensics would be onto his foot track and scent, headed south, in the direction of the van he had placed earlier that afternoon.  
  
The air was thick, as he inhaled several scents could be detected in the air. Mud and vegetation the most dominant, yet it was sweetened with the cleansing musk of Clarice Starling. The aroma voyaged from his enigmatic queen into his expanded nostrils.   
  
Her image seemed much the same as when he carried her out of Masons barn, though now she was dressed far more to his predilection. He muttered amusingly to himself as he considered how she would have reacted when she woke up in this splendid little number. Several expressions painted themselves in his mind, the first being complete disgust, they both new that his selection had been solely for his benefit. Or perhaps she had been embarrassed, he preferred to think that. To have seen a slight pink tinge to her cheeks as she realised that he would have seen her completely, without any of her little masculine clothes to hide her feminine physique. That thought pleased him indeed, the unyielding Clarice flustered by such candid modesty.   
  
The journey continued another 15 minuted before he reached the dark van. After gently laying Clarice across the backseat and handcuffing one of her arms to the door handle, Dr. Lecter made a hasty exit, avoiding central highways, and taking the science route to a generous size cabin he had rented quite a few years back.  
  
When he felt their position to be secure, Dr Lecter raised his head to the rear-view mirror and watched Starling as she stared began the struggle of sleep battling consciousness.  
  
After three half rolls and a disgruntled sigh, Clarice hesitantly slid open her eyes and took in her surroundings.  
  
Leather, windows and a roof light.   
  
She inhaled sharply as her line of vision met a pair of intensely piercing maroon eyes in the driver's mirror. At the recognition of Hannibal Lecter, Clarice fought to sit upright. She found herself bound, by her own handcuffs to the door handle. She growled with irritation and felt her hip for the key. Obviously it was not where she had left it, but then again, she hadn't expected it to be there at all.   
  
She held his gaze as her thoughts processed like paint through a sifter. He'd known where the key had been the whole time. Hell he's probably even seen the metallic impression through her dress as soon as she'd entered the dinning room.   
  
But why? She couldn't imagine why he would sacrifice what he had. His freedom was his life, she had expected the worst, and even hoped for it. She need to vent her aguish on physical pain, tonight he had the opportunity, and still he disregarded it and left the decision making with her.   
  
Why?   
  
Her recollections we're interrupted.  
  
" How terribly exhilarating it is to see Clarice Starling wake from a self-induced slumber" Tingles surged her fingertips as he broke an unregistered silence.   
  
Still slightly dazed, Clarice made her best attempt to reply.  
  
" I hardly consider these latest string of events 'self-induced' Dr. Lecter." A low rumble echoed her voice ash she fought to keep control of her tone.  
  
" Hmmm, and what would *you* call them Agent Starling? "  
  
His manner and pace was fast, she felt the challenge and tried to keep up.  
  
"Self-sacrificial" Short, frank, and completely honest.  
  
His eyes danced over her body, still wet, her hair clung to her face as he met her eyes to be reassured of her forthrightness.  
  
" Ahh, just the answer I was hoping for,"  
  
His eyes left hers and focused back on the road as the van made a left exit off a dirt track that Clarice could only guess was miles from the hell they'd left behind.   
  
Clarice's eyes widen at his last couple of words. In one sentence, Hannibal Lecter had left al the rules to drown in the Chesapeake. This game was being created on the drawing board, with Clarice and Dr. Lecter as it's only illustrators.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I couldn't help myself, anxiety is an addiction.  
Part 5 coming soon. 


	5. Establishing Ground

'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part Five: Establishing Ground  
  
  
  
The van pulled up fifteen minutes later outside of a decent sized cottage, overridden with vines and scrub. For the time existing in-between, neither Clarice nor Dr. Lecter expressed words to the other.   
  
When the car was stationary, he parked and opened Clarice's door. There she sat, as far from him as possible, looking out of the window and into the surrounding lush vegetation. He mused at the stubbornly childish image she offered.  
  
" In case current events have gone unnoticed on your part, Clarice, I'll remind you that we've reached our destination." His voice filled the silence, competing only with the crickets and cicadas.   
  
She refused to look at him whence came her reply.  
  
" Thank you for the update." She always contributed politeness to cynicism.   
  
" My dear, I can not imagine this vehicle providing a decent nights sleep." He was provoking her now, enough to initiate the cold glare, which he had recently become accustomed to.  
  
" Why don't you give me the keys to the cuffs and the van, and I'll be on my way. By the time I reach the closest town, you would have covered a fair distance, should you chose to take the car I presume is in the shed."  
  
Her head tiled towards the small shack, which sat at the right side of the house. She was pleased with the strength her voice and tone offered.  
  
" How very observant of you Agent Starling. Honestly though, do you really expect such courtesy, when you failed to grant me that same request a few hours ago?" His eyes narrowed as he watched her vigor dissolve.  
  
" I will however rid you of the uncomfortable position you must be in." He swiftly moved inside the van, sliding across the backseat to produce a small silver key.   
  
The familiar sound of snapping handcuffs allowed Clarice to register her position. As soon as her hand was free she moved to strike.   
  
Her upper body pounced on his and they fought equally for balance for a few seconds before he overpowered her and pushed her back onto the seat. His body atop of hers, growls of fury and delight came from them both as he took her small hands in his and placed the cuffs around both.   
  
" Perhaps we could stay in here after all" He beamed as he reduced the space between their bodies.   
  
Clarice fought on, wriggling beneath him, only to further his amusement.   
  
" Get off of me Dr. Lecter." She barked through grated teeth.  
  
" Only if you promise to be a good girl and come inside." His lips were so close to hers, she could almost taste them.  
  
There was silence, as she seemed to consider.  
  
" Fine." She looked away from him and waited for him to move.  
  
Irritation was boiling inside of her, she despised when he spoke to her with degradation. Yet she despised herself even more for the prickles of excitement and pleasure that their little interludes sparked within her.   
  
She was a captive of her own subconscious; a prisoner of her own suppressed desire.  
  
When his body left hers, she felt a familiar hollowness tug at her whole.  
He guided her from behind as they exited the car and made their way to the wooden door.   
She knew she had the chance to bolt, hell possibly even outrun him, yet she was too tired to give it a second thought.   
  
Clarice was spent, Lecter noted as his gaze dropped to the grazing feet in front of him. Her lack of strength in the van had even surprised him, she needed rest. He would force her into admittance if it were necessary. Somehow, though, he imagined that it would not take much effort on his behalf to get Clarice into a bed tonight.   
  
His hearth fluttered with excitement as he processed the last sentence in his head. Few men in the world had ever, or would ever be able to reflect on such a thought.  
  
When they reached the roomy veranda, Lecter took the lead and felt his way under the eve of a large window. A few moments he had a key in his hand and was in the process of unlocking the door. Clarice stood back and processed all that she could, at the same time scanning the area for a future point of escape. Spending more than one cosy night with Dr Hannibal Lecter was far beyond sane comprehension for the dutiful Agent Starling.   
  
Tomorrow she would gain the upper hand; the price she was willing to pay for such power was still under scrutiny...by the both of them.  
  
  
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My apologies for the length of time it has taken for this chapter to come together. I hope you find it worthy of the wait. Chapter 6 is coming...well soon*ish*. 


	6. Calling Bluff

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Well it would seem that 'sooner-ish' was traded for 'later-ish'. Midterms are finally over. Yes. Yes. I know, what was I thinking, midterms over writing fan fiction...I really need to start prioritising.   
Anyway, I thought it appropriate to update today. This is my Easter gift to you all, whether your religion is bases on Christianity, chocolate, or like mine, cannibalistic gentlemen, I do hope you enjoy. Thanks goes out to those who have reviewed. Patient champs, the lot of you ;-)  
  
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'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part Six: Calling Bluff  
  
  
  
Inside, the cabin was comfortable and roomy, though significantly musky from disuse. Dr Lecter lit a nearby candle encouraging makeshift light to dance through the room. The walls were bare, though held great character.  
  
  
  
Clarice physically shook herself as if to fend off her thoughts. She still felt light, almost like she had watched herself, and the progression of their performance through the evening.   
  
As they ascended a nearby staircase, she realised how exhausted her body was, her limbs ached and her eyes were sore. Yet she trudged on, Clarice Starling would never burnout in the face of a challenge, particularly those that were set by Hannibal Lecter.  
  
Immersed in thought, Clarice barely registered that her captor had stopped at the top of the landing, his arm raised in the direction of an open door to the left. She grated her teeth at the realisation of her lack of observation.  
  
Dr. Lecter fought off the urge to grin, aware that such a gesture would only further the annoyance of his already stressed counterpart. Although he wouldn't deny himself the amusement her whimsical little act, he made a considerably genuine effort to ease the furnace of her temper.  
  
Raising a quizzical eyebrow, her gaze drifted from the expressionless Lecter, to a darkened bedroom.   
  
" I would turn the electricity on, Clarice, but enticing suspicion to any circling patrol helicopters has quite an unappealing repercussions, wouldn't you agree?" His warm breath caressed the base of her neck.  
  
She declined her customary witty retort and waited for movement. It never came. Clarice heard the 'ping' of a pressure change in her ear as a result of absolute silence.  
  
There's something comforting about a complete state of stillness. Its almost as if physicality and time disappear, leaving nothing but the epitome of thought.  
  
  
  
Clarice limply fell back into a pair of firm waiting arms.  
  
" Ah my dear, it would seem that your body isn't quite as willing to resist as your mind. Come now, lets get you changed and into bed."  
  
  
  
  
His arms were still unyielding against her shoulders as he guided her into the bedroom.  
  
"How is your shoulder, Clarice?" His voice held honest sincerity as he relinquished contact. Neither expressed their disappointment.  
  
" It's fine" She turned to him, though avoided his eyes; she knew what she would find there. To hell if she'd ask anything of him.  
  
"Perhaps after a shower, you will permit me to take a look?" He furthered his questioning.  
  
" Thank you Doctor, but as I said..."  
  
"Very well, wait here a moment while I check on the state of the bathroom" He deprived her the privilege of finishing her sentence, and replying to his own.   
  
When he returned, he found her with her back turned to him, head bowed in examination of her wound. He presumed that the morphine had almost run its course, and she presently in a fair amount of pain.  
  
" You'll find everything to accommodate your needs available in the bathroom Clarice" Her shoulders flinched as his voice filled a void of silence.  
  
His shadowy figure stood gracefully at the foot of a canvas bed, located in the darkest point of the room, she hadn't been aware of either presence.  
She made her way into the bathroom, fighting over the decision to look over her shoulder.  
  
She chose not to look back.  
  
The door shut abruptly, and an echo sounded throughout the cabin. Hannibal Lecter exhaled slowly as he walked his fingers gently over the soft bed quilt.   
  
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Accommodating her needs was a slight understatement on Dr. Lecter's part. Clarice found scented candles, body lotions, silk pyjamas and a fully equipped first-aid kit awaiting her use. It seemed somewhat surprising to find such amenities in an old disused cabin.  
  
  
  
She rejected the surge of panic, which swam, through her body.   
  
After a brief shower, she dressed her wound with a temporary bandage and changed into the ivory silk pyjamas, an exact fit.  
  
Her logical mind liked dominating her body, filtering emotion, commanding a response.  
  
  
  
  
Clarice groaned loudly as she played observer to the argument that was talking place in her head.   
  
Declining the use of the scented lotions, she cleaned up her mess, and left the bathroom in the exact order she found it.   
  
As the door creaked open, Clarice decided that it would be for the best if Dr. Lecter was still somewhere in the house. She would find her gun tomorrow morning, ridding of her submissive charade, and take apprehend him. She would end the game...win the game.  
  
.........Or at least that's how her logic persuaded reasoning.   
  
The truth had been left to drown in the Chesapeake, for it was the same underlying motive that forced her to refrain from detaching herself from the sinking madman lest 3 hours ago. The unspoken connotation, which had somehow become dogmatic to both of their thoughts. A walk of the mind through forbidden territory.  
  
She could barely hide her disappointment at finding the candlelit room empty.   
There were two points of light in the room. The first from a large candle, which stood on an oak dresser next to the bed, and the second coming from underneath the now-closed door.   
  
He was still in the cabin. Moreover, he was resting in the room directly across from hers.  
  
She looked around in confusion to find he had turned down the bed quilt for her, and left a fresh jug of water and a cup next the candle.  
  
Clarice's nose scrunched at the sight of the water. It was likely to be bore water, judging from their location. She had become quite accustomed to such ill tastes while living on the ranch. Once she caught a bacterial infection, which restricted her to a bed for three weeks. A long three weeks of restless sleep, as she tossed and turned listening to the agonising harmony of the screams of the soon-to-be-slaughtered spring lambs.   
  
She wondered whether the jug was a metaphorical representation constructed by the sharp mind of Hannibal Lecter, or merely a gesture of civility. Clarice decided that the former was greatest in probability.   
  
"You see a lot Dr." She quietly recited an admission to the dark silence.   
  
********************************************************************************  
  
In a chamber across the hall, Hannibal Lecter sat propped up against the headboard of his bed and smiled. His little Starling was modest with both her actions and noises.   
  
He had timed her shower to 4 minutes, no doubt she wasted little time with a quick clean and hair shampoo. He listen to the small hisses she provided as she dressed her wound, and the gentle *swoosh* made by the contact of silk on skin. Constructing mental images proved to be a difficult distraction.  
  
He amused himself with thoughts of her rejecting the use of his body lotion. Of course he had planted the desire, but it was unlikely that she would cover herself in a scent specifically chosen by him. She knew too well how such simple submissions pleased him so.  
  
A few moments later, after what he could only predict to be her state deep thought, he heard her stealthy whisper.   
  
  
  
He replied in a similar tone to hers, knowing she was unable to hear him.  
  
" More than you know Clarice, more than you know"  
  
He had called her little bluff, seen through whatever she hoped to achieve tonight by going along with his instructions.   
  
Tomorrow would see an end to her illusions; one of them was going to fold. 


	7. Lost - An Interlude

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This chapter is dedicated to the evil...*coughs*I mean amazing writer Samantha Bridges, as it is her work that has inspirited my motives within this chapter.   
  
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'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part Seven: Lost- An Interlude  
  
  
  
  
Clarice descended the stairs in complete darkness, thoroughly confused as to how she had gotten from the bedroom to the stairs without conscious thought.   
  
Her hand grazed the cold wood, as she felt her way down the banister. Her aim was to locate her gun, and preferably her handcuffs, hide them in her room, and apprehend Lecter at a vulnerable moment when he returns to check on her.  
  
  
  
A loud thud echoed through the cabin as Clarice missed the last step and fell forward on her knees into the hallway. Her hands scraped the dusty surface as she attempted to construct a mental image of the ground floor.  
  
  
  
Dust collected in her palms as she moved, still remaining on her knees, across the room, in search of familiar objects.  
  
  
  
She pushed aside the notion that it was highly unlikely he would hide the gun at all, and it was most probably resting in his lap upstairs.   
  
Her hands travelled further to intercept the bottom corner of a hard table.   
  
  
  
Clarice was about to rise when her hand brushed over something else, something a lot softer and considerably cleaner. It was a leather shoe. *his* leather shoe...  
  
  
  
..attached to a warm leg.   
  
  
  
She froze in her spot, on all fours, one hand on his shin, the other flat on the floor. Adrenalin flushed though her body and her heartbeat provided a dynamic rhythm to the silent shadows.  
  
(Don't look up, Starling. Don't look up  
  
She looked up. A pair of intense maroon eyes glared down at her, light flickered in his pupils as a match was swiftly lit.  
  
" Dr. Lecter...I..." Her voice was far too shaky to hold confidence.  
  
" Going for a little walk-about, Clarice?" His tone was cold.  
  
  
  
"I wasn't tired"  
  
  
  
"I was under the impression that you were in search of your weapon. That or an exit." No change in his tone.  
  
" What if I was?" A surge of bravado hit her as she stood and stepped back from him. She had the sudden urge to wipe her dusty hands down the front of her pyjamas, but in value of her life, declined.  
  
" Well my dear, that would be classified as cheating, in our little game." That set him off. She saw a tight grin begin to form.  
  
It angered her that he still considered everything to be game. He had gone to so much effort to spite her, to throw her into a corner and wait for her to retaliate.   
  
Her rage consumed her sense and her mouth was open before she could control it.  
  
" This is all about some 'Game'. A game, which has left me without wilful choice, Dr Lecter. I want out" She grew taller with spontaneous growth of conviction.  
  
" Trend carefully dear agent, you can never assume the exact location of a landmine" His shadow grew larger as he approached her.  
  
Every step she took to increase the distance between their bodies, he balanced out by taking large strides of his own. Soon, Clarice found herself with her back hard against a wall.  
  
" What did you think this was all about Clarice? Certainly you haven't granted yourself higher status being my playmate? " He continued  
  
She was shocked.   
  
Momentary confusion pulled a blanket over her vision. Then it was all clear.   
  
Ten long years came to an abrupt dead end. She had indeed granted herself higher than truthful status; she had made the terrible mistake of judging a madman. Her eyes fell to the floor in defeat.  
  
" I brought you all this way to watch you fight, Clarice, please, don't disappoint me now" His body was now pressed against her own.   
  
" But...I" Her bottom lip began to tremble with realisation.   
  
She felt used. How silly she had been to believe that he saw her as anything other than the bravest opponent for his perverse amusement. Her strength stemmed from the knowledge of self-power and courage. Hannibal Lecter had successfully shot down both, and she was now left standing weak, lost in the game, or lost to the game, she was unsure of which was most appropriate.   
  
A single tear slid over her left cheek, as she heard the unmistaken slice of his harpy through her silk pyjama top.  
  
"It seems as though we're reached an understanding Special Agent Starling."  
  
There was no movement from the frail body beneath him. The strength of his mass was the only support holding up her completely powerless form.  
  
" Perhaps now you'll ask me to stop hmmm?" His nose was at her hair, inhaling deeply.  
  
" We've been through this already. Not in a thousand years" Her voice was low and without intended sarcasm. Her final effort, her final response.  
  
" Your quite right, my apologies, Clarice." He smiled as his harpy cleanly cut through her stomach, just below her abdominal cavity. Crimson blood soaked though the expensive nightwear.  
  
" That's my girl" He lightly caressed her lips with his before he stepped back to eye his work.  
  
That's how she saw him in her last few moments, smiling evils as he licked her blood from the metal blade.   
  
It was over now; everything was in its place. Her lasts thought were of how painless it all seemed. She imagined she was experiencing the feeling prior to death, the void of nothingness. Her eyes slowly began to shut as the image of Hannibal Lecter faded to back...or were they opening... 


	8. Fold

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I'd like to start by extending my humble apologies to my dear Shattered Mug, I do hope you have retired from your corner; confined spaces have such a horrible upshots on the circulatory system ;) If not, hopefully this chapter will give you reason. After reading SJ's review I was seriously considering re-writing chapter 7 and making it the last *evil grin* I do intend to meet the requirements of the selected category, but perhaps a little later on hmm? The game isn't over yet, my friends.  
  
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'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part Eight: Fold  
  
...black swirls morphing into a haze of gold, and then the flashing of an overpowering yellow light. Clarice Starling's eyes opened widely as she sat abruptly upright in the bed. Pure relief was released in an audible sigh as her eyes adjusted to the early morning glare which rushed in through the old sky light above her. In frantic distress she writhed free from a self-tangle of white sheet and ivory silk to expose the soft skin of her stomach. Her hand gently examined the area to reassure herself of the complete absence of a bloody wound. Another sigh.   
  
After her brief panic lapse, memories began to run their returning course. The candle had burnt out overnight, a waxy pool the only evidence of it's existence, the water jug, still full of it's nasty content and the white eiderdown pillow which sat abandoned a few feet from the bed.   
  
Last night she had spent a good hour debating whether or not to sleep in the bed he had turned down for her. She hated to accept anything that he offered her, to sleep in the bed would be worse than wearing the body lotion, it would highlight a feminine weakness, draw attention to the qualities that she had spent her life ignoring, hiding. She had decided that dragging a pillow onto the floor to sleep on would be sufficient.  
  
  
  
That was her immovable state of mind for a prolonged five minutes, that is, until her neck and back protested that pride and dignity alone were not enough manipulate her body to sleep. After stubbornly sulking for a minute, Clarice was asleep in the bed, and was now pleased with her choice, her body had fully recovered. The same, however, could not be said for her state of mentality. The dream had felt exceptionally real, and on waking up, left Clarice feeling hollow and abandoned.   
  
Overnight, her whole attitude towards him had changed. She had indeed assumed a lot about his capabilities and extent of menace. Ignorance was foul on her tongue; in his presence her lack of fear had been genuine due to the fact that she honestly believed that he would not viciously harm her like he had done to so many others.   
  
Blatant truth is a bitch. There is no other, more dignified, sentence to best describe her sudden realisation, she didn't *know* Hannibal Lecter and she never had. He was an elegant, walking, talking explosive; likely to blow up in her face at any given time.   
  
Well, that's what she so believed now.  
  
For the second time in ten years, Clarice was truly panicky over Hannibal Lecter. The first experience had been just after his escape in Memphis. Mapp had talked her into a state of complete paranoia, believing that she was next on his list after Chilton. And now, even after his proposed reassurance, she was edgy just thinking about him, about what he might do.  
  
Her pale hands unconsciously shook at her side as she rose from the bed, a site she would surely scrutinise had she been able to observe herself.  
  
  
  
Solemness was a regularity in her life. Often people mistake her loneliness as a choice, but in truth, it was a curse. She had no one to depend on, she didn't need company, but that's not to say she didn't want it. She'd just never admit that she needed anything from anyone.  
  
As she grasped the porcelain handle, she began to put things into perspective. Starling's were not quitters, even at risking her life and sanity, Clarice would not turn down her duty. She would fight the one person who is able to fill the empty cavity in her life, the monster whom has killed more people than she has ever socialised with... the man that may ultimately kill her too.  
  
As she opened the door, she quickly scanned her surroundings. In the room across from her, a quilt lying over the bed looked ruffled, it had been used. To her right was a narrow hallway which lead to what looked to be a linen press. Diagonally to her left was a smaller room, an office, occupied by a mahogany desk and bookshelf. From her distance she could make out a few of the larger print titles; "Gourmet Cuisine Special Edition", "Psychiatry- The Minds Eye" and... "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus!!"  
  
  
  
She chucked to herself, easing her nerves as she pictured Dr. Lecter reclined on his master chair engrossed in a chapter of frivolous self-help.  
  
Slowly she made her way down the stairs  
  
  
  
A wave of deja vu crashed over her. Shakily inhaling, she continued down the stairs on light feet. At the second last step, lost to thoughts of her dream, Clarice tripped on her feet and lunged forward...Instead of cold wood, her face and hands crashed into a firm warm chest.  
  
Her eyes shut briefly as her mind began to shut down at the intense contact. Intimacy with Hannibal Lecter corrodes all thought.   
  
His chest lightly vibrated under her cheek as a soft chuckle violated an earnest silence.  
  
" Watch your step. I would think your body has endured enough torment this over this past week, Clarice." His jaw rested on her hair, his warm breath setting off stray auburn locks into a flurry of movement.   
  
She thought.  
  
"Breakfast awaits our arrival". There it was again, the honeymooners tone.  
  
She shivered as he moved her body in front of his and guided her, by the small of her back, into a dining room. The shiver was a product of fear, wasn't it? What else could it be, moments ago she had convinced herself that this mans intentions ran no deeper than regulating harpy exercises.   
  
It would seem that Clarice Starling was more afraid of Hannibal Lecter when she was alone, than when she was in the perpetrator's company.   
  
As they entered the large room, connected to the kitchen via a panelled door, Clarice half expected too see Paul Krendler propped up at the wrought iron table, brain fully exposed, excluding the pre-frontal lobe.   
  
Instead, she was confronted with a considerably domestic, rational setting. Two places were set on the table, both of which included a steaming black coffee, and a yellow blob, assumed to be omelette.   
  
Without resistance, Clarice sat in the chair he offered and waited for him take his opposing placing. In his own time he did, he sat and watched his fragile little butterfly search for words, for her infamous courage. He had been so close before; she had shed her tear of disgrace as he held her against the fridge, the tear that confirmed what both only dared to presume. But now, he would have to start again, tear down the re-erected walls and leave her naked, defenceless, she needed to see herself there.   
  
" There was little food in the pantry still within its used-by-date. I'm afraid this will have to suffice for now, Clarice" He pointed his fork towards the omelette on her plate.  
  
She really wasn't concerned with the foods state of health; in fact she wasn't hungry at all. Her nostrils flared as she the imaginary salty aroma of Sauté La Krendler wafted through the room. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she wondered where he was right now; she was appalled to find herself hoping that he still sat ridiculously slumped over in the wheelchair, with a towel thrown lazily over his exposed grey matter.   
  
"Let me assure you, he'd be quite dead by now. Though his miserable life could have been salvaged had you not been so eager to call the authorities" Her head shot up to meet a pair of maroon flashlights.   
  
?  
  
He was accusing her of ultimately killing Krendler, slaughtering another lamb by not being there to protect it. He may have been the rudest, most arrogant and tasteless lamb to exist, but her morals still reigned to save, even his, life.   
  
"Don't you even think about laying the blame on me. It was hardly my idea to dine-in with you last night." She snarled as she felt sudden heat of anger rise from within her.  
  
  
  
" Oh, so cold, Clarice. Try not to get upset; I only want us to be able to participate in civil discussion" His voice was soft, almost subservient, as he lifted the steaming cup to his lips, but paused before he took a sip  
  
" ...Besides, it's been a good ten years over due" He winked in her direction.  
  
That sent a slight tingle over the sensitive surfaces of her body.   
  
" So you brought me here, to the middle of nowhere, with intentions of enticing civil chatter? For what? Your entertainment?" Her tone was low, yet without the menace she had intended to use.  
  
Small wrinkles formed at the sides of his mouth as he smiled at the pleasure of hearing her accented voice. He used to consider such a 'twang' to be a great stigma on her good name, but now, he'd grown to love it, and he loved it even more knowing that she tried to hide it from him.  
  
" No, Clarice, not for my entertainment. I would have stayed in Florence had I desired such leisure. It's much, much, more than that."   
  
She felt his trouser leg brush against her silky pyjama bottoms as he crossed one leg over the other.   
  
"Tell me about work, Clarice. How does the daily slog make you feel? Does it suffocate you, constrict you?"  
  
She looked away from him, eyes adverting to her small hands. Work was the last thing she wished to discuss, if indeed to she wished to discuss anything at all.  
  
"No, Dr. Lecter. Works fine. I'm fine" her reply was barely audible. She felt the temperament of the room swiftly change.  
  
One hand slammed hard into the metal table with a loud 'thump'. She jumped in surprise as his eyes turned into molten fireballs.   
  
" You will not lie to me here!" A piercing yell made sound waves jump to attention. " ...Not here Clarice, not ever. This is a time outside of the normal. Do you understand?"   
  
She nodded compliantly and bravely eyed him, pushing aside the excited desire she felt from his sudden powerful outburst.  
  
  
  
"It's not going as well as I had planed it to." She expelled a delayed honest truth. His eyes cooled down again and his face seemed to drop. She felt anxious, like she was about to experience a panic attack.  
  
" And it never will. Your living daddy's dream Clarice, and it torments you, covers your eyes and blinds your own desires. A mirror will show you your incorruptibility, my dear, I've already told you that, but it will also show you what you've wasted."   
  
His words rung loudly in her ears. He knew he could hurt her worse this way. He didn't want to, but it had to happen; someone had to show her.  
  
She had known her job was a dead end and that her life was wasting away as the years went by, but she knew no better. Without her job, her father's wishes, there was nothing. Somehow, he always made it sound much worse than she had imaged. She now realised that the truths that Hannibal Lecter speaks are the lies she constructs for herself to please her shield of principles.  
  
" Your life is circling the drain. Everything that you uphold has ultimately brought you down. Can you see that Clarice? I'm sure your father would. These pieces that hold you together, they have walked you to nothing. Certainly not to the advancement that I recall a certain ambitious agent converting a decade ago."  
  
His string of bittersweet words continued to caress and attack her ears, but her eyes never left his, she couldn't advert them, even if she had tried.   
  
She needed to change the direction of this conversation, if they kept going down that path and she found her gun, it wouldn't be his head that she'd want to blow off.  
  
" Quid pro quo, Doctor." He raised a quizzical eyebrow as she pushed out of her chair and retreated to rest her back on the wall for support. He thought she may have been looking for an exit, and grew tense, until she began to speak  
  
" What do you see when you look in the mirror" Her voice was shaking, as if she were on the verge on tears.   
  
That surprised him. She had the uncanny power to put him off balance, she was a rare creature indeed; he could never quite predict what was going on inside her beautiful little head.  
  
" What makes Agent Starling want to analyse the monster now hmm? There aren't any lambs to be saved. Katherine is resting safely in her bed..."   
  
He sounded almost defensive. She pressed on.  
  
" Do I need a reason?"   
  
At that, a fortress seemed to drop from a place around his heart.   
  
" A personal inquiry then? Hmm Clarice Starling is opening herself up to the feared cannibal, Hannibal Lecter"   
  
His statement reminded her of a newspaper headline she'd read a few months ago. They never ceased to leave them alone. She almost pitied their misguided amusement.   
  
" Well I wouldn't call it *opening myself up*" Her confidence was beginning to return, as she seemingly began to forget who he was, what he'd done. At this time, that didn't seem to matter.  
  
  
  
She was startled when he rose from his chair, just as she had a few minutes ago. He then approached her, one hand in his pocket, the other at his chin.   
  
" What *would* you call it then?" She hadn't been prepared for that. She blinked without response.  
  
" Something holds you back, Clarice. What is it, fear? Anticipation?" He took another step closer. It was now impossible for her to move away.  
  
" You tell me" Her head hit the wall as she desperately tried to minimise contact.  
  
He smiled as he wondered whether or not she would be ready for what he had to say.  
  
" You've never been afraid of me Clarice, and I admire that to no extent. You want to be scared though. It wouldn't surprise me if you've tried to talk yourself into it on occasion. Your greatest fear is of yourself."   
  
His hand moved to trace her the injury at her shoulder through the silk. He knew its exact placing. She shuddered at the contact. He left his hand there as he continued.  
  
" You shudder at what you hope is disgust, but its not. Your so afraid of what you might do, what you might become if you break free from your self-prison, Clarice. But your strong, and you try to fight yourself. You're a warrior, a hunter, awaiting the next kill, the slaughter of injustice."  
  
His hand move down her arm, enjoying the softness her sleeve provided against his fingertips, and stoped as he took her fingers and laced them with his own. She didn't move away from him, he saw no reason to stop.  
  
" We're so much alike, Clarice, so alike yet completely different."  
  
They could hear each others heartbeats racing in the silence. Matched rhythms.  
  
"To answer your question, what I see when I look in the mirror... I see you"   
  
His image was a blur in front of a sheet of tears that covered her eyes. She looked away from the intensity of their gaze and sharply inhaled. Her bottom lip trembled as a bi-product of her quiet breakdown. Special Agent Starling had been shot down, left was Clarice, the little girl too frightened to move.  
  
His forceful hand grabbed the soft skin at her jaw and moved her to face his.   
  
" Clarice" Her name, her calling, her downfall.   
  
"Clarice" A beckoning. His mouth hovered dangerously close to hers. Not many had been that close to his mouth, and if they had, they weren't around to tell the story.  
  
Her stomach was rolling over in fits of excitement. She could taste the acid, which had risen from her stomach, to the back of her throat.   
  
She was hit with a sensation of dizziness before she did the unthinkable, something neither of them had expected. They both froze over with shock... 


	9. Cheating

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Before you read this chapter, I recommend you have a quick glace over the end of chapter 8. (Yes it's been awhile, but who really wants to hear excuses?) It's probably best, just how we start off in the right mood.  
  
I'm not a persistently earnest person, I needed a bit of a humorous intermission. Besides, it happens to the best of us ;- P  
  
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'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part Nine: Cheating  
  
  
  
...Clarice Starling, Special Agent of the F.B.I, self-confessed stoic, farted, emitted gas, let one rip, a complete one-cheek sneak!!!  
  
They stood gazing at each other for what seemed like two eternities, before Hannibal Lecter's steel mask cracked as his mouth open widely in a deep cackle. Yes that's right, Hannibal Lecter. MD, was weak in the knees from an extreme fit a laughter. She had never seen him like this, or even presumed him able to express so much vocal amusement; he was very much out of character.  
  
Clarice was thoroughly mortified. Her cheeks grew a shade pinker as she listen to the melody his voice provided. Never in her life had she reached such a point of embarrassment and humiliation. This exceeded being stitched up completely naked, it even topped walking out of the Baltimore Forensic Hospital with her face and hair coated in semen.  
  
Of all people, It HAD to be in front of Hannibal Lecter  
  
She found herself fighting for a re-action. Complete shock had wrapped her up in a tight sheet, she couldn't even move her arms up to brush away the pieces of hair which were a considerable annoyance to her vision.  
  
After a few occupied moments passed before Dr. Lecter could see that she wasn't moving, she hadn't even blinked. Certainly his laughter had not intended to make her feel uncomfortable or inferior. Nevertheless he fought to re-gain his composure, something he rarely had to do.  
  
" Well that's one way to avoid an intense conversation, my dear." Through his smile, she could see, that he was nowhere near over the initial amusement.  
  
Still, she couldn't form a sentence; not even an apology to excuse herself for such a rude interruption, she knew that he limited patience for the rude.  
  
Oh, excuse me Dr. Lecter! It is so horribly distasteful for a lady to expel gas in the company of others  
  
He inhaled and tried again, this time replacing his smile with a far more subdued expression.  
  
" My slippery little Starling, I do believe we were discussing more pressing matters." His right arm returned to her hand as he stepped closer.  
  
Standing from the outside, Clarice could imagine that what just happened may have been funny, even laughable. But here, as she stood within inches of Dr. Lecter's rock-hard body, such an uncontrolled, humane action, seemed horribly inappropriate. In fact anything remotely uncontrolled seemed inappropriate in the company of the most precise, calculating man she knew.  
  
I need out of this RIGHT NOW  
  
She swayed to the right to make a quick exit before he was able to move closer. He was on her as soon as she moved, a heavy arm barricading the door's exit; the other encircled her petite silky waist.  
  
" Dr. Lecter" She groaned in protest, her glittering eyes met his as she attempted a search for answers.  
  
She found much of what was expected, absolutely nothing.  
  
His infamous pokerfaced glare pinned her against the wall with more strength than any physicality he had ever exerted upon her.  
  
" Are you tired yet, Clarice? Tired of our little game?" The sudden drop of his voice enhanced the sharp turn of events. Like stepping off the edge of the world, she was falling...falling into the unforgiving abyss.  
  
She wondered what exactly he wanted from her... from the game. Ten years ago it had been obvious, he wanted a room with a view, his freedom. They could exchange information, shift the conversation from one to other, with a distinct, definite direction. She had convinced herself after his escape that their civil exchanges were of a strictly business-like nature, despite what her heart sang to her...the towel... the touch...  
  
People will say we're in love. Hell, they've said plenty more than that  
  
If she hadn't gone to visit him that night, things may have been different. She had juggled the idea of going to see him for hours. She had his drawings...and a worthy explanation; she still needed answers. But. That's not why she went. No. That's most certainly abusing the truth. She was addicted, obsessed, infatuated, she had do go. Even if it were to be the last time...  
  
When the letter arrived, all thoughts arguing 'business arrangement' we're silenced. What they had exchanged in those brief meetings was much, much, more than either had fully come to comprehend. But they did have the time in between then and now, a long, lonely 10 years, to form a good idea.  
  
Unfortunately time had been neither the teacher nor the healer. It had haunted her, HE had haunted her. Time had been a deadly consumer, though they had been physically separated by gallons of ocean and miles of land, he had never left her, time had engulfed her soul and moulded it to his.  
  
Still, she was left confused, she had stuck her head so far into their game that she could hardly find her way out.  
  
Silence. Why is there so much of it?  
  
She tilted her head in bewilderment as to why it had been so long since he had last spoken.  
  
Oh right...he was waiting for an answer. What was it again? Was I tired? Am I tired?  
  
She took a deep breath and tried to catch her thoughts, attempt to put together a logical response. But he was so close, so very, very close. In her mental conversations with him, she had always spoken out, had the exact compliment to his statement. It was the closeness that but her off balance, never before had she been receiver of his gently touch, his warm kiss.... there were no bars now., no glass.  
  
" I...I don't know what to say" A mumble of truthful words formed to make an honest sentence.  
  
" Let me help." His raspy voice shrouded her attention, as did the slow downwards movement of his head toward hers.  
  
Oh my...not again  
  
She stoped any further intrusion by placing her hands against his chest.  
  
" Doctor, you can't do this" Her quiet plea forced the withdrawal of his hand from under her jaw, maroon eyes hinted at a sudden displeasure, perhaps she had insulted him. Perhaps he was disappointed...  
  
" I assure you I can, Clarice. I'm a killer, a cannibal, a monster" His cultured voice made the titles seem insignificant. Discredit of himself sounded far cheaper on his tongue than it did on any other. " I've done much worse than demand a simple kiss my dear" With that he was back on her, with the deadly reinstatement of his capabilities.  
  
Barriers were crushing at her feet one-by-one. He was overtaking what control she had left of her body; she was the host of his morbid desires. In hers eyes he could see that she fought hard to disgrace and suppress the knowledge that he was equally the host of hers.  
  
His urgency conquered her weak protests, as his inviting lips re-claimed her mouth.  
  
Her groan of evitable approval produced what could only be described as a primal hum from the Good Doctor. Simultaneously their eyes shut at the brutal force of their untamed passion. For the purity of those beaded moments, Clarice Starling was corrupted with consent and Hannibal Lecter, for the first time in his adult life, felt incredibly vulnerable.  
  
Their shared moment of impunity was compelling, yet brief. Clarice tore her disobedient mouth from his in a sudden burst of panic.  
  
He has my mind, he's had my body, but he will not have my deliverance  
  
In moments of complete fear, the physical body is subject to phenomenal change.  
  
With the power of fear, Clarice pushed back forward on his chest, and sent Lecter stumbling backward. It was fear of self that sent her running out of the joining door into the hallway. Watery eyes distorted her vision as she frantically made it to the front door.  
  
As he heard the door slam from the dining room, Dr. Lecter sighed heavily, still slumped in the position to which she had shifted him.  
  
" That's cheating my dear. That's cheating" He shook his head as he hastily made his way to where his Little Starling had made her exit. He listened to the rhythm her feet made as they thumped against the wet grass. She had already made into the forest area across from the house. He couldn't see her.  
  
A strong verbalised curse was the last he heard from Clarice Starling. 


	10. So Close, Too Far

'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part Ten: So close. Too far  
  
Sharp twigs assaulted her already tender feet. She couldn't see the ground for the unwelcome salty tears, which welled in her eyes and traced down her flushed cheeks. Surrounding thorny shrubs attacked and tore at her once beautiful silk pyjamas; a delicate pattern of crimson and ivory evolved and expanded from the cuts and abrasions on her legs and arms.  
  
She was running from him.   
She was hiding from her.  
  
How quickly the tables can turn. Her position of power had been slaughtered the moment she had decided life was worth no more than drowning in the Chesapeake with him. Dr. Hannibal Lecter.  
  
Now, instead of being the mighty warrior, the hunter, she was indeed the prey. Running from the enemy. Him? Herself? She was disgusted at herself, knowing that she had turned her back on a challenge, cheated her way out of the game. But what else could she have done? Stood and participated in lustful moments of complete passion with one of the Ten Most Wanted? Abandoned every moral her father had encouraged her to stand by and leave behind 30 years of the only life she knew?  
  
Corruption. It sounded foreign on her tongue, a word that wholly existed, yet remained hidden in shadows of denial. He asked of her something far greater than she was able to give, or receive. Yet she asked of herself something considerably justifiable. Time with Dr. Lecter, as minimal as it had been, had constructed apart of her that no other had ever attempted to build. Happiness lived in the heart of torture. She could never have what she needed, only dream, dream it then deny it.   
  
Her sprint had been on going for nearly half and hour before she began to realise that her body had reached its capable climax, and pain overtook thought. She hadn't once stopped to cheek her wounds, or even question her destination. Fear had turned on 'auto-pilot' mode, she was, without being.  
  
Her legs slowed down their maddening pace and began to tremble at the sudden release of strain. She has an undeniable fit woman, many of those who knew her managed to at least praise her loyalty to physical training. But over this past week, her mind had taken more from her body than she thought capable, and she had little energy left. Clarice inhaled deeply, wincing at the cramps in her chest; her throat was dry and itched for water. After a moment of light-headed wandering she fell to the ground in audible exhaustion, her head meeting a sharp log, making a small gash above her right eyebrow.   
  
~ For if this is life, I am forever lost ~  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Choosing whether or not to go after her was not an easy decision to make. He had wanted her to play, from her own side of the table. It would be a discourtesy to her strength had he tried to play her hand for her. He was pleased with her responses up until she had bolted, and cursed himself for allowing such a foolish opportunity to rise.   
  
He had missed her undeniably since their last encounter, and spent many of his days thinking about what she may be doing, whom she might be pursuing. Hannibal Lecter was not a man well aquatinted with duties of obsession, in fact, he's desired very little sentiment from himself or any woman. But there was something indescribable about what Clarice drew out of him, something, much to his surprise, which always left him off balance and vulnerable.   
  
He wondered if she would ever realise just how much power she held and how much damage she could do.   
  
He stood on the veranda and inhaled deeply. He wanted to go after her, he knew he could find her easily; he could trace her scent anywhere. Yet, something was stopping him from racing down the steps and into the bush, something that scared him greatly...Guilt, an emotion, which could destroy a man with a history such as his own.   
  
He had never wanted to force her into realisation; it was never the intent of the game. No, the game was just a fancy name they had to use in order to spend time together, the word that helped Clarice stay sain. In hunting her down, it would likely end in a misrepresentation of both of their characters. She needed time, and he would give her all the time he had. The time between now until death, if freedom couldn't be found in a lifetime...not that he would let her know that.  
  
It was a possibility for him leave the cabin, take the sedan parked in the garage and drive interstate; there were a few places he would like to re-visit before he left the US, forever. If she came back to the house, her gun and keys for the van would be left on the dresser in the hallway. They would both return to life as they knew it, as they despised it; at opposing ends of the spectrum, one lonely in heaven, the other solemn in hell.  
  
He took another deep breath as his chest and nostrils expanded. Choice, as it seemed, was a mockery of the very lives they had built for themselves. But they would both survive, he was patient, she was strong. The only regret he would take with him was his open-ended departure, they had never said goodbye. They both needed that, at least.  
  
No use dwelling now. It was time to move on, time to move away.  
  
  
And he would have let her go, had he not heard her distance cry of pain.  
  
  
  
  
~ Carpe diem - Seize the day ~  
  
  
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It worked out to be a little shorter than I had hoped, but I wanted to be hasty with my posting. I have been a little slack lately. Thank you to all my reviewers, I'll be more specific in the epilogue, I appreciate all of your comments. I still have a few more chapter up my sleeve, stay tuned.   
  
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	11. Some Hunters Don't

"At the End of the Game"  
  
Part Eleven: Some Hunters  
  
  
~ Some hunt for leisure, others don't... ~  
  
  
  
Clarice was soon to recover from her fall, not once did she allow herself time to wallow in what would have been justifiable pain. She picked herself up off the ground and began a slow walk, looking over her shoulder every few minutes, knowing that she was unlikely to hear her hunter when, or if, he came in for the next attack.   
  
The cut on her forehead was considerably deep, enough so to earn several stiches, had she been in the near presence of a hospital.   
  
  
  
Her arm went to her shoulder without conscious thought. He had done a good job of her shoulder, probably exceeding the work of any doctor ever hired under the Bureau's health cover. Clarice peeled back the neck of her pyjama top to look at her wound. There they were, a perfect, straight row of little stiches, clean and dressed. She almost smiled at the magic of his work.  
  
  
  
She closed her eyes and shook her head in disgust. When she'd first woken up at Krendler's she'd been mortified. Hannibal Lecter had sewn together her body, healed her wound, and taken on the role of her temporary God. She shivered at the thought. How wonderfully upsetting it was to imagine him, hunched over her body with a needle and stitching, his delicate hands, those fiend-like tools, weaving the pattern of a saviour. She remembered seeing him momentarily, while she had rested at his mercy beneath him. The flashlight he held between his teeth had prevented her from finding his gaze; she had only seen his dark form hovering above her, like some kind of sinister angel.   
  
He had seen all of her. It was a thought that hadn't horrified her half as much as it should have. Hannibal Lecter was a gentleman at the very least, in fact he was probably the only man she knew she could completely trust in terms of 'clinical detachment'.   
  
She thought about him then, about how she had lost herself in his kiss, for the second time. Of course she's never been kissed like that before in her life, he was the precedent of the many feels and desired she harboured, and he knew it. She had seen the victory in is charming smile. He had her, and she would never be with another man. It shamed her to know that she wished the reverse to also be true.  
  
I wonder if...  
  
  
A loud scratching noise startled her and brought her back to the present. She hit the ground hastily and crouched behind a wide oak tree. Again, she had failed herself, falling into thought and not paying attention to her current dilemma. Her eyes scanned the surrounding thick shrub demanding reason. Rays of sunlight hit the silk of her attire, creating a beacon of glittering ivory: a bloody diamond in the rough.  
  
Clarice held her breath in the back of her throat and listened, her body remained rigid and motionless. A strong breeze stirred the leaves, and she listened as they met in their rough assault. Cicadas and crickets competed with the birds to voice their consoling tune, and for a brief moment she thought that perhaps paranoia had gotten the better of her.  
  
Slowly she rose, careful of her placement and footing, and took a few steps backward, her eyes still piercing into the dense shrub.   
  
And then she heard it again. Only this time it was louder, and closer.  
  
Tension thumped behind her ears as her heart maddened its pace, she was sure if she looked down to her chest she would see the silk dancing in a rapid rhythm.  
  
Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.   
  
She froze in position, unable to move, yet desperately wanting too. She though she heard a car door slamming shut, its metallic echo shifted the stillness and whatever calm she had left in her.  
  
Silence. And then a clicking noise, almost like. . . clicking the safety off a pistol.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Adrenalin flooded her arteries. This was going too far. Loud footfalls thumped from the direction in which she had been running from. Their paced increased, communicating serous pursuit. The ultimate chase was on.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Primal instinct took over, and her legs started moving before she realised she was running, desperation her only source of energy.   
  
Behind her she heard his pace quicken yet again, he was getting closer and she was running as fast as her body would allow. Again her limbs were under attack, but this time pain was comforting, at least she knew she was alive, it was enough to sustain momentum.  
  
Ahead of her was much the same as what was behind her, a hazy swirl of greens and browns. She was moving too quickly to be able to define her surroundings, but she didn't really care, she just wanted go get out, get away.  
  
  
  
A loud gunshot sounded and silenced nature for a brief instant, the hunting aspect of their game had just shot up the literal scale; this was real, this was so very real. Another shot fired, this time she felt a bullet graze past her left ear, her heart stopped and her knees went weak. She could see where the bullet had lodged, but she knew, had she shifted an inch just a few moments ago, it would have been in her head.   
  
  
  
Birds flew away in their flocks, madly trying to escape the ciaos. Their cries mingles with her own  
  
  
  
The third shot hadn't even registered in her ears when she let out a muffled howl of pain. She felt a hot surge of pain shoot up through the newly shattered bones in her right ankle, blood escaped furiously over the ground.   
  
She fell forward, hands lost in the tall grass, and turned to look at what she had assumed to be a bullet wound. It wasn't.  
  
A metal clamp had sunk its razor-sharp jaws into the flesh and bone at her ankle, bittersweet irony sang loud; she had well and truly stumbled into a wicked trap. It was a hunter's snare, specifically designed for the leisure of deer hunting, stags in particular.   
  
The metal teeth had not completely severed the bone, but she could feel its unwanted icy internal presence. She tried to move, but failed miserably, the pain was too much; she winced in agony and frustration. Bloodshot eyes produced masses of the tears she so detested. Pain had often been a symbolism of her courage and bravery, but not now, not anymore. She had no fight left; she was at her outermost limits; so close to giving up, so far from the warrior that used to stare her down in the mirror.  
  
A couple of yards away she could here the approaching footsteps, thumping zealously, they were loud and committed. He certainly had no intention of adopting a surprise attack. That was unlike him, but it didn't shock her, nothing he did would be capable of that anymore, she wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of witnessing her reactions. How dare he do this to her? Her cheeks burnt with fury.  
  
In sudden aggravation she made one last attempt at holding onto her freedom. She pushed into the ground, elevating her body off the muddy grass, and bent at the knees to balance her weight. As she fought for a stable upright position she felt the teeth etch further into her bone. Another shriek vibrated through the air.  
  
Physical release helped a little, and she was now walking on one foot, the other dragging the heavy metal clasp along the ground, followed by a trail of warm rich blood. She really shouldn't be moving about, she knew it, blood loss would prove to be a significant problem some time soon, she could already feel a distinct numbness climbing up her leg. In her years with the Bureau she had been subject to many injuries, both gun shot wounds from hardcore criminals, and self inflicted training accidents. She was extremely familiar with pain, but this time something felt different. Her heart hung heavy in her body, she wanted to reach into her chest and yank it out. Hannibal Lecter had never tried to hurt her before, not like this, he gave his word.  
  
  
  
Another shot fired. She stopped dead in her tracks, the tiny hairs on her arms, legs and neck stood straight as a shiver rocketed through her body. He was right behind her, the shot had been fired directly upwards, as if to promote a final warning. She didn't want to turn around; she knew he would be waiting for a reaction, but she didn't want please or amuse him in anyway. She stood completely still and watched one last tear burn a path over her lips.  
  
  
  
  
  
She looked down at her trembling hands and scorned herself for the messy state she had let herself into.  
  
  
  
  
A voice broke the silence, and she jumped in apprehension.   
  
" Alright, games over, Lecter"  
  
Her eyes widened and her heart missed a beat. That was not the voice of Hannibal Lecter.  
  
She wasn't sure whether it was hope or disappointment, which suddenly allowed her head a quick glance over her shoulder. Standing 12 feet from her, out of a clearing of tall grass came the last man she would have expected to see.  
  
An aging Jack Crawford stood, rifle cocked towards her.   
  
They both shared an instant of hysterical disbelief. Suddenly his features lightened, he lowered his gun and relished the image she offered; scared, injured little Starling. It was a first.  
  
" Clarice..." His voice travelled to her ears in a comforting caress.  
  
At that moment, neither spoke of happiness or relief.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Surprise!! Yay! Another player.  
  
With special thanks to Troesnaja, this chapter was influenced by our delightful little conversations ;)  
  
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	12. The Third Player

"At the End of the Game"  
  
Part Twelve: The Third Player  
  
  
  
The echo of a sounding bullet came abruptly, like a blow to the face. Dr. Lecter jerked slightly at the sudden noisy intrusion. He watched as a flock of birds fled from their homes; one white dove nestled amongst twelve crows.   
  
"Clarice..." Her name often fell from his lips without permission.  
  
A surge of tingles made an unsettling pathway from his toes to his fingertips. Her .45 was resting safely on the mantelpiece of the room he had slept in last night. He knew for sure that the shot had indeed come from the rifle of his invited third player.   
  
Dr. Lecter had expected Jack Crawford a lot earlier; he had posted a note to him the morning of July 4th, and calculated his entrance to be at some untimely hour of the current morning. Apparently he had parted with too much credit, old Jackie Boy really was losing his touch.   
  
  
  
Dr. Lecter considered his little invitation to be rather straightforward; after all, an arbitrator was just what they needed. The cabin was one of Crawford's vacation getaway retreats, Dr. Lecter had been through numerous times, but inviting the owner was definitely a first. It was another test for his little Starling. Would she continue the hunt, or befriend, the enemy? He refused himself the much-craved habit of foretelling and left his mind to wander down the avenues of the unknown 'what ifs"  
  
The third shot sent him on a scurried mission into the shrubs. He may have been testing the waters, but by no means would he allow her to drown.   
  
He followed her tracks as far as he could before letting his senses take over. She had made his work considerably hard by opting not to use the lotions he had left for her last night.  
  
  
  
He still wore his expensive leather shoes from the previous night; they were now scuffed as he increased the rate of his sleek pursuit. She had covered a fair distance, he thought to himself. A twitch at the side of his mouth indicated he may have smiled, had the time been appropriate.   
  
His nostrils expanded in another deep breath. Inhalation halted when he detected a foreign scent.  
  
Sweat and...cheap cologne. His nose scrunched at immediate distaste. For Section Chief, Jack certainly kept his wallet tight by his side, even in the presence of his much-coveted Clarice. The thought that Crawford had freshened up before his little rescue mission amused him. Did he honestly hope to impress his little Starling by insulting her sense of smell?   
  
Crawford's attraction to Starling was blatantly obvious, and he had never made an attempt to cover it. Dr. Lecter new, however, that the infatuation was not returned. Clarice admired him; he was probably one of the few of her superiors who actually supported her career, him and John Brigham. The dead and the dying.  
  
  
  
Perhaps a person without the foreknowledge of Hannibal Lecter's past would agree that he walked with an air of grace. The other would argue it to be cunning, some kind of wild animal lying low until the next strike. The truth, however, may nest somewhere in-between. No one will ever really know what he his, and only one has ever received an invitation to find out.   
  
His footfalls sounded gently against the loose leaves on the ground, no one would hear him coming, he's make certain of that.   
  
A sudden change in the direction in the wind picked up the strong metallic scent of freshly drawn blood. Dr. Lecter showed no immediate change of temperament, the slight narrowing of his eyelids the only indication of reaction.   
  
His growing concern for Clarice was overpowering, to say the least. Of the years they had spent apart, every second day he made a ritual out of checking up on her. He knew that she didn't need his constant surveillance, and it was only now that he could admit it had all been for his benefit. Knowing that she was happy and healthy was enough to keep him the same, and although her distress was what finally drew him to her, it was not for the reasons that most had assumed. No one would ever understand, not even she.   
  
And now, as the scent of her blood, the very essence of her life, filled his nostrils, true panic set in. Not since childhood had he felt such vulnerability. His Mischa had been taken from him, and he had promised himself he would never allow himself to feel such pain again. It was the only promise he had ever broken. Clarice Starling had imprinted a home in his heart, and it scared him. And so the sudden tension in this chest came as no surprise when he heard her distressed moan a few yards ahead.   
  
He cautiously weaved his way through the tall grass before halting at a sudden stripped clearing.   
  
He could smell them. He could see them; Clarice and the third player.  
  
But for now, he would watch.  
  
  
********************************  
  
"Clarice..." She could hardly keep from wincing as her name escaped his lips. No one ever said her name like *him*, she even detested hearing it come from any other.  
  
She met Crawford's fearful gaze with a mixture of apprehension and displeasure. It felt like an invasion, as if he we're here to 'save the day', only she didn't need a saviour.   
  
  
  
" Are you alright? Has he hurt you?" He was walking over to her, examining her bloody attire " Oh God. Clarice. I'm sorry..." He couldn't finish, his breath hitched at the back of his throat.   
  
She was fuming. Jack Crawford had just jumped onto the playing board thinking, all to well, that he knew the rules.   
  
  
  
She was about to voice her protests and guarantee him she was of good heath, when she unexpectedly winced in pain, unable to speak as she shifted her weight onto her injured ankle. A minute moan rumbled in the silence, enticing Crawford to her side.  
  
" Jesus, Starling! Oh God...I'm sorry" He dropped on his knees to her crimson coated ankle.  
  
"What the hell are *you* sorry for?" She couldn't help the comment that slipped from her lips in between stifled groans.   
  
His glassy eyes looked up to her pale face, locks of limp auburn hair barricaded him from searching her swollen eyes.  
  
" I never, for the life of me, considered this. I can't get it off without unlocking it." She flinched and bit down hard on her lip as his hands moved over her foot and across her shin. In comparison to *him*, his touched repulsed her.  
  
  
  
" I'd have to go back to the cabin to get it" He stood, wiping his soiled hands over his cream pants.  
  
She was confused.   
  
"This, this is your place?" Clarice now completely at a loss began to retreat from his wandering gaze.  
  
" I got a message from Lecter last night, it was the only place he could be. I'm going to get the key, can you sit?" He was nearing her again; his eyes were vultures at the wounds on her neck and chest.  
  
" No. Don't go. Not back there. Leave, please." She pleaded. Every emotion she felt was informing her that Crawford shouldn't be here, not like this, he doesn't fit into the puzzle.   
  
" I'm not going to leave you, Clarice, I can deal with him"  
  
  
  
"Leave, for me Jack. I don't want you here" It was the most truthful thing she had ever said to him. Unfortunately, he failed to comprehend the depths of her demand.  
  
" I wont. Let me help you" He steeped around her and lent forward, grabbing a thick twig from a nearby branch. " Hold still" He whispered as he crouched to the left of her, desperately trying to pick the lock.  
  
As he worked, Clarice mulled over how futile this whole situation was. Lecter taking her to Crawford's cabin in hopes of ultimately playing the three-man game they had started ten years ago? Surely he knew that Crawford had no place here, whatever *this* was, no one else was a worthy competitor, no one else understood.   
  
His hand slipped and stabbed at her torn flesh, making her yelp in furious discomfort as the metal teeth scraped against bone.   
  
" You shouldn't be here. God! Starling. What the hell made you go to Verger's?" His warm breath ignited the fire at her ankle.  
  
She wouldn't have answered so truthfully had she known of the observer hidden not 10 feet away.  
  
" Because I wanted to, alright? I fucking wanted to. I had to..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell to the ground.   
  
Conversations of this nature made her ill, her stomach flopped over with a rush of anxiety.  
  
" You've never forgotten what he is, you followed my advice, but what now? You still have to save him? Do you see him as innocent, Starling? What is it with you and him?" Questions flew from his mouth like bullets; truth was a killer, and a touchstone to aggravation.  
  
  
  
" You'll never know..." She stopped abruptly as she saw the grass before her ripple.   
  
"What is it?" He stood up, hands supporting his back as he returned to normal height. His age was parading on stage for all to see.  
  
She didn't have time to answer. He pushed her into the back of a tree, covering her entire body with his back, and faced north, into the direction of the cabin. The rifle was raised and ready.   
  
"Lecter?" His voice shook noticeably. Fear swam through his head, never before had he wanted Lecter deader. His stomached grumbled as his breakfast heaved up his oesophagus, the hydrochloric acid burnt his throat.  
  
If you are what you eat, Jack was muffin, and Lecter, well; he was more human than anybody.   
  
Clarice squirmed under his heavy weight, trying to free herself.  
  
" Mr Crawford. Let me go. I can deal with this." She whispered frantically into the bare land at her felt, she couldn't move her head for the restriction he placed upon her.   
  
" Like hell you can Starling. Can't you see what he's done to you already?" His tone was passionate, yet quavering. She wondered if Dr. Lecter could hear their conversation, it wouldn't surprise her in the least.  
  
Another noise startled them both, this time coming from behind her, behind the tree she was pinned to. In a fraction of a second Crawford had reversed his positioning, his chest now pressed to hers with his head cocked out to the side.  
  
" Your valour is misplaced Jack. If only you knew how little I needed protecting" Her gaze bore into his forehead. When he didn't react, she wondered if he had heard her.  
  
"Jack..." It was then that she saw a light of reflection run over his cheek.  
  
  
  
Her heart raced, for a moment she had forgotten where she was.  
  
She had no time to warm him. The harpy was pressed against the flesh of his neck before she could even manage a gasp. She couldn't see him, but knew from the look on Crawford's face that Hannibal Lecter stood directly behind him.  
  
A rabbit was sandwiched between the wolf and the lion.  
  
" Tell me Jack, had you ever considered this scenario?"   
  
All breathing stopped when *that* voice cut through the air. Tiny stars appeared before her eyes as the blood left Clarice's head. As her knees began to tremble from lack of strength, she was immediately grateful for the support holding her upright.  
  
When her chest finally demanded oxygen, she took in a shaky breath.  
  
  
  
At that moment indecision was the only thing that kept her from screaming. Whose blood smelt the strongest, hers or Crawford's?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Ahhh to kill, or not to kill...  
  
Thanks for being patient; I've had a few big nights lately, finding the keyboard has proven to be quite difficult at the best of times. Reviews as to direction would be greatly appreciated. I'd like to know what you want done with ole Jackie boy.  
  
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	13. Rough'nTumble

"At the End of the Game"  
  
Part Thirteen: Rough n' Tumble   
  
  
Clarice shut her eyes tightly; her cheeks began to ache at the unannounced strain. As wrong as Crawford had been about her, she would never wish him dead. He had been more of a friend to her that Dr. Lecter had, hadn't he?   
  
She felt his chest crush further into her own, her heart pumping wildly against his ribs.   
  
" Jack, you know it's rude not to answer." She still couldn't see him, he was slightly shorter than Jack, more her own height.  
  
Jack stiffened once again, squinting his eyes as the harpy drew a tear of blood from just above his jugular. Clarice felt her stomach lurch, if she moved, Crawford was dead.  
  
" I don't know what your talking about" a sheepish reply. He didn't know, but Dr Lecter and Clarice did, and she didn't want to witness and explanation.   
  
" Dr. Lecter..." her voice was stronger than Crawford's, which pleased her.  
  
There was a brief silence before she heard his sharp intake of breath. Her eyes flew open.  
  
" This little mediation would have been far more comfortable in the cabin, Clarice. But you had to go and be a naughty girl." Another moment of silence before he continued " Just the way I like it" She shivered at the banter in his voice. Tiny hairs all over her body stood to attention as her cheeks flushed hot. She prayed, to whatever God might be listening, that Jack would be oblivious to Lecter's affect on her.   
  
Sometimes, the bond between them so resilient, that no one else existed for them in their time together...like Baltimore, no one but *them*. They were both startled when Jack reminded them of his presence.   
  
" What do you want Lecter"   
  
" Now there's a question. What do you suppose I want, Jack?" She watched, as his dark eyes grew wider.  
  
" Us. Dead" The harpy inched downwards. A Hand became visible.  
  
" The both of you? Hmmm, Clarice knows all to well, from last night, that I have no desire to see her dead..." His voice dripped away before elaborating. Clarice met Crawford's horrified gaze, trying to reassure him of her integrity.  
  
" But you Jack, well...perhaps" Dr. Lecter spoke in all earnest. The blade ran down the side of Crawford's neck, a trail of blood following intently. As the sharp metal sunk into the hollow of his collarbone, Jack lunched forward into Clarice, attempting to escape immediate pain. A shriek came from Clarice as his boot leg crashed into her injured foot. Blistering pain travelled up her legs to her brain. Both men stoped short in hearing her discomfort.   
  
Dr. Lecter wanted to see her, he knew she needed attending to and Jack was proving to be quite the nuisance.   
  
" Please move out of the way, Jack, I would like to check on Clarice" His provocation was hidden in a sheet of delivered civility.   
  
Crawford regained his stance, backing away from Clarice, but still blocking her from Lecter... or was that Lecter from her? The harpy had moved from his bleeding neck, and he quickly decided to make an attack of his own.  
  
Expecting Lecter to be right behind him, be forcefully drew back the butt of his rifle and turned. When the gun struck nothing but air, panic set it. Lecter came from the side and was on him before he registered the upcoming assault.   
  
Masculine growls sounded from the both of them as Crawford stumbled to the left, the hand, which tried to grasp his rifle, met the same cold blade from before, it sliced cleanly up his palm. His head through backwards in a cry, he sobbed into the heavens for mercy, and begged for the strength to fight on. With some luck, he managed to raise a balled fist and direct it towards Lecter's face. It was deflected, yet crashed hard into his chest. The power of the blow set Dr. Lecter back a few feet, but failed to disturb his facade of calmness.  
  
Clarice tried to intervene, but found movement to be restricting and considerably painful.   
  
" Dr. Lecter...Mr Crawford" She made do with a verbal protest, hoping that it wasn't to late.  
  
But it was. As soon as his hands we're free, Crawford raised his rifle, wincing as his palm bleed out over the barrel. His bloody finger curved around the trigger, and before the bullet sounded, Lecter threw this body atop of Crawford's. The shot was somewhat muffled by both bodies, a low groan of torture bellowed from one of the men, both of which lay atop the other on the ground.  
  
Stillness.  
  
Clarice dragged her ankle behind her as she attempted to approach the two-man pile. Any pain that she may have experienced at that moment was consumed by her sudden desire to protect, to salvage life.  
  
Movement.  
  
Dr. Lecter shifted awkwardly and rolled off to the right of Crawford. She swallowed hard as she watched him place a hand on the ground for support as he rose.  
  
Her eyes took in his form as he stood up. He was totally covered in blood and his vacant expression gave no hint of injury or emotion.  
  
She then looked down to Jack. His body faced to the midday sun, his sweatshirt covered in a similar pattern to Dr. Lecter's. For a moment, she was unsure of who had been shot until she saw the entry wound just above Jack's trousers.   
  
Her eyes swelled and then returned to *him*. He was waiting for the return of her sad gaze, and when it was delivered, he felt the sudden urge to go to her, to lick the salty tears of anguish from her cheeks. Of course he didn't.  
  
" Rather ironic really, shooting himself" His voice shook her, it pushed over some unrecognisable edge.  
  
She couldn't look at him. Everything was so terrible wrong. She felt like running, running like she before.  
  
  
  
A tidal wave of emotion surged over her. If she was promised a placing in hell, she wished the ground would open up now, and taker her a life time too early.  
  
He still stood watching her, like he always did. She wanted to scream, to run over to him and bash him until he turned and left for good.   
  
When she considered what he must be seeing, she felt like a helpless fool. She needed to check on Jack, but something had stoped her instincts form kicking in so early.   
  
As she moved toward his motionless body, her ankle rolled and a metal shank snapped off into the soft flesh under her ankle. She fell forward and grimaced expecting her jaw to meet the ground. The impact never came. Dr. Lecter was before her swiftly, grasping her underarms and blocking her fall with his bloody chest.   
  
She groaned as he caught her. Her heart raged unfaithfully into his hard body, relishing the contact. And then more tears came; she fought hard to keep her head from resting up against him.  
  
He watching her as she drew into him, her fists balled at his back and began to pound into him. So much emotion was evident in her eyes that he was unable to do anything but support her weight and blows. He was certain that she had failed to see the shaky rise and fall of Crawford's chest, and thought he was dead for sure.  
  
" He's not dead, Clarice" His voice echoed through her body and the pounding ceased. She stiffened and then relaxed, and eventually rested her complete weight against him.  
  
Moments extended for centuries as she slowly looked to her side.   
  
Silence.  
  
The dove, which had fled its nest earlier, returned to rest in the tree above them.   
  
Singing.  
  
When her hand came to rest on his shoulder, he expelled the sigh, which had been waiting ten years for release.  
  
Finally, it was time for the end.  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
AHH! This chapter has caused me more trouble than its worth. Everything was deleted so this was a rush job (please excuse grammar/spelling Its VERY late). My apologies to readers, I feel it's a little underdone...but, necessary for the final chapter.   
  
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	14. Before Choice

'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part Fourteen: Before Choice  
  
  
Getting her back to the house proved to be more tedious than he had first calculated. Being the protector that she was, she had taken twenty minutes to convince herself that Crawford was indeed in a stable condition. Dr. Lecter had overheard her whispering something to him, but could not make out precisely what was said.  
  
She had propped Crawford up against a tree and sworn that she would call the paramedics as soon as she got back to the cabin. And of course, she would.  
  
Dr. Lecter supposed all the fuss to be a subtle hesitancy or evasiveness. But after ten minutes, Clarice eventually ran out off distractions to keep her eyes off of his.   
  
He watched and waited. Like he always did.  
  
When finally she lifted her head to reach his gaze, neither could predict where the path they were about to tread would lead. He tilted his head as be began his observations. She looked tired. Very tired.   
  
" You've reached a decision?" He noticed her shoulders twitch as he invaded her silence with his natural flow and composure.   
  
Eyelids met as she concealed her crystal heart from his shattering gaze. Her head was swimming with useless thoughts. It was hard to feel real. That scared her. Standing in front of Hannibal Lecter was the one place in the world where she should feel more real than ever.  
  
With another intake of breath she opened her eyes. The space where he had been standing was now vacated. Her heart lurched forward in her chest at the sudden freedom. Perhaps he had had enough of the game?   
  
All thoughts of escape where squashed when she felt his feathery touch at her ankle. She looked down upon his dark head. Long gone were the days of sleeking hair gel, it now looked soft and uninhibited, streaks of grey added extra character to the dark mass.  
  
" Dr. Lecter?" Not even a whisper. She wondered if he had heard her.  
  
His warm breath stang the open wound, her spine jerked upwards as her hands grasped for the sides of his head. The gesture was far more intimate than she intended. Her palms sizzled at the contact.  
  
She never felt him flinch.   
  
" Clarice, we need to get you back to the house." His head was still focused at her feet.  
  
"Its fine" She managed between winces. The metal clamp has griding against bone.  
  
At that he turned his head up sharply, his cheek brushed the silk of her bloody pyjama bottoms. Neither saw the other momentarily shut their eyes.  
  
" Don't waste our time your stoic bravery, Clarice." She hated the tone she found in his voice. "Are you able to walk back to the cabin?" His eyes never left hers. He made it terribly difficult for her to lie.   
  
"Yes." She sounded convincing.  
  
" Right then" He got up and stepped to her side. "Jack's must have a key for that lock somewhere." He wrapped his arm around her elbow and waited for her move, if the action was made involuntary he knew she was less likely to struggle.   
  
She placed her good ankle forward first, silently thanking him for his sharp perception of her stubbornness. The first stride was successful, but as soon as her injured joint rolled to touched the ground, her knee buckled and she fell into his side. She tried desperately to suppress a groan, but her efforts were unrewarding. Dr, Lecter's brow creased as she verbalised her discomfort. She was oblivious to the extent of his concern.  
  
"It's not a good idea to put weight on your injury. Perhaps I should carry you." He wasn't asking her.  
  
She tried again to move her foot forward, and again her joint rolled further into the metal. She sobbed unwillingly into his shirt.  
  
He said nothing as he bent down and grasped her under the knees, careful to avoid any further discomfort. He gracefully lifted her light form, ignoring her groans of protest, and carried her back towards the cabin.  
  
At first she held onto her clumsy hostility toward him, but soon after all fight from within her was lost. For the second time in 48 hours, Dr. Lecter carried his Starling from a scene of bloody carnage towards an obscure comfort. For the second time in her life, Clarice Starling lay at the complete mercy of Hannibal Lecter's fervent hands.   
  
Amongst fate, allies meet in the strangest of circumstances.   
  
  
He walked briskly, sharing his focus dually with the now-worn path and her beautifully pained face. She kept her eyes shut tightly, forming creases at the side of each. The weight of the clamp was weighting her ankle down. She had to keep her mind off the pain by biting the inside of her cheek, blood trickled down her oesophagus as her teeth munched on the raw flesh.   
  
She listened to the thumps of his steady footfalls combined with the rhythm of his heartbeat which, strangely enough, soothed her. Her head rested beside his shoulder, and with each stride, the wind carrier her scent to his nostrils. He inhaled sharply as he felt her stir in his arms. For this suspended moment in time he was able the embrace his trembling warrior without battle. It pleased him.  
  
They arrived at the cabin in silence and entered through the open door. Its state untouched since he had left in an alarmed departure. Light crept in through the drawn curtains and highlighted the features which she had previous missed. He sat her down on a large comfortable recliner, swivelling it to face the kitchen and fetching a footstool to rest her trapped ankle.  
  
"Wait here a moment, Clarice." They both knew that she would be unable to stand, but he positioned the chair how she would be in his view while he left the room.  
  
Her hands ran along the material, the velvet-like cilia irritated the cuts in her palms. She crossed her arms in defeat. There she sat, on a massive recliner, in the middle of an almost-bare room, the picture of a sulking child on a throne. She looked down at herself; the pyjamas were soiled with dirt and blood and ripped beyond repair, her skin was raw and her hair a dishevelled mess. She though he would be sniggering off in come corner, amused at her present state.   
  
  
  
She shook her head and leaned further back into the neck rest.   
  
  
  
She closed her eyes briefly in reflex to discomfort, but snapped them open as soon as she felt his presence. Warmth flooded her. She watched as he knelt before the footstool, first-aid kit in one hand and a small gold key in the other. He looked up at her with a passionate gaze. A position he rarely finds himself in.  
  
"This might hurt. Please try to keep your feet still" and with that, his steely resolve was back in place; clinically detached.  
  
She clamped her hands over the sides of the recliner, bracing for what was to come.   
  
  
  
He placed the key into the lock and gently rotated its angle. His eyes never left hers. With a snap, the metal jaws loosened their grip on her ankle. Clarice expelled a shaky whimper, suppressing the real pain, which welled inside of her like a storm in a glasshouse. His hands then moved to open each of the bloody steel jaws, he saw her eyes darken and watched the lines of strain form on her forehead. He lifted her knee and completely removed the trap, leaving her butchered ankle completely exposed. The air hovered and clung to her fresh wounds, stinging the ripped flesh.   
  
"Clarice? Are you alright?" She heard, as well as felt, his loyal concern.  
  
She couldn't speak; she was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would be unable to contain the million screams that were waiting impatiently at the back of her throat. Instead, she nodded, her eyes watery with truth.  
  
He knew she was lying, but found it to be futile to mention or correct such discourtesy. Her eyes followed his hands as he fished through the first-aid kit. Band-aids, tweezers, rolls of bandage tape, safety pins, antiseptics and ointments, pills, syringes...   
  
  
  
He must of seen her head shake in disproval.  
  
"Its not morphine, it would be dangerous to administer another dose so close to the last." He placed the bandages on the recliner and moved to show her the bottle in which he drew the syringe from. "Merely slows down the neurons a little" He winked and smiled his reassurance.   
  
  
  
"I'm going to need to remove your pants..." His voice seemed to trail off, perhaps in search for permission. He opted to forsake innuendo, now wasn't the time.   
  
Her muscles strained in warning, the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood as straight as soldiers. She felt her face flush hot as a product of the warm wave which crashed over her and somersaulted in her stomach.  
  
  
  
  
  
Her lack of protest signed the contract of their silent agreement.  
  
He rose to his knees and brought his hands up to the waistband of the silky pyjama bottoms. He looked up to her once more before he peeled them over her thighs and down her legs. She adverted her eyes and held onto a deep breath. Her body ached for air and...  
  
  
  
As the silk made its way over her ankles, they both sighed and released their long held breaths. One trembled inwardly, the other outwardly, at the prospect of exposing their deep-seated desires.  
  
"Dr. Lecter" She unconsciously whispered.  
  
"I think we would both agree that 10 years is ample time to highlight your station change, my dear" He spoke quietly as he lifted her legs and swept the pants off the recliner.  
  
Their hearts and minds we're racing against each other in a war of reason. Pain tickled pleasure and sensation overrode fear.   
  
Time stopped.  
  
Conflict began.  
  
Where there was a choice to be made, a battle was sure to follow.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I just *had* to leave it there.  
  
Time is a marvellous thing to have on your side. I'm glad I've finally got this chapter up. Reviews are greatly appreciated; it's always a pleasure to hear what's going on inside your head. Oh! And feel the end, for the end is near ;)  
  
  
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	15. Purgatory

'At the End of the Game'  
  
Part Fifteen: Purgatory  
  
  
A ciascin' alma presa e gentil lore   
"To every captive soul and noble heart"   
(- The faithful followers of love)  
  
  
  
When battles are described, one generally pictures enemies at combat, a bloody massacre of souls lost to the irony of idealistic power. There are battles of right, land, freedom and often love. But the most frightening battle any human has to face is waging war against self. Tearing apart character in the ultimate hunt for truth, in the lifelong search for peace of mind. There aren't many who have won that battle.  
  
Now, they were both fighting on the battlefield.  
  
When their eyes met, pools of conflict met in a haze. It was the declaration of a war neither could fight for the other.   
  
Clarice sat before him, all silk and panties, and waited for him to move, to breathe. He wore an armour of absolute stealth, like no man she had met. He was no more a monster than her, the only difference being she held a warrant to take lives. That warrant swept murder under the long-kept rug of justice, the rug she had spent her life protecting and upholding.  
  
Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. The motto maintained by the cowards who had betrayed and cheated her. How ironic.   
  
  
  
"Hannibal..." She tested its flow from her lips. It came easier than she would ever like to confess.   
  
His eyes shut as he heard her address *him* for the first time. He too was unlikely to admit just how much he was affected by that one word. He inhaled again deeply, moving up her leg with the syringe. His hand traced the span of her calf, over her knee and stoped mid-thigh where he found a visible vein.   
Her mind was elsewhere when the needle entered her; he'd done a first-rate job of distracting her.   
  
After injecting the fluid, he removed the syringe and moved back down toward her ankle. He coated a cloth with a clear antiseptic and began his treatment on her injury. His hand retracted as he heard her groan, but soon returned to cleaning the wound; the sooner it was over the better. The skin at her ankle was flapping off the bone, he shuddered as he considered her pain, and then stiffened in shock. The last time he had empathised with pain was when Mischa had...He shook his head, the doors of his memory palace were spontaneously opening. She had that affect on him.   
  
Several minutes saw Clarice fall into a relaxed state. She could feel him working on her ankle, but there was an absence of pain, she felt numb. She knew that sensation well. Over the past months she had grown a strong bond with her bottles of Vodka, giving the bourbon a rest. She swore she wasn't an alcoholic, there's too much weakness associated with that term, but others might argue otherwise. Nothing else soothed her like the drink, well nothing other than when he was near...  
  
When she looked down again he was sewing together her flesh above and around her ankle. Trepidation crawled through her mind and sent a jolt of electricity along her spine as the image of Jame Gumb threatened to appear. Of all the deranged criminals she had tackled, he was her first, and in saying that, would be the last to leave her mind.   
  
  
  
Dr. Lecter felt her stiffen.  
  
" How do you feel Clarice?" She wasn't listening as he spoke.  
  
"Hmm?" Her thoughts were jumping in disconnected waves.  
  
"Watching me, how does that make you feel?" His eyes bore into hers and held them in a direct line, he forbid her from being dishonest with him.  
  
She stumbled at first, trying to think of an appropriate answer, but soon found the words floating out of her mouth abandoning their pre-structured sentences.   
  
" I...uh...I feel vulnerable. But...safe too." He smiled. He was happy with her answer.  
  
Beats of silence penetrated into oblivion before he spoke. He loved it when he held her thoughts, her anxiety and amusement. One might say he was inclined to abuse his power over her, but she didn't seem to mind.   
  
"Don't you think you should fear your current predicament?" His icy tone had returned. So quickly he could change the pace of their conversations. The sudden show of authority made her tremble, but not from the fear he suggested. No. It was never from fear.  
  
"Fear? You've never given me a reason to be frightened." Another truth. They we both surprised at how quickly she was able to reply.  
  
He gave no response as he shifted her ankle off the recliner to give him more freedom of movement as he wrapped a clear sticky tape around, and over her stitches. She wished she could read him like he could her but his face was blank, completely deadpan. That's it! She had to get a rise out of him. Something was better than nothing.  
  
"Why are you doing this? And don't lie to me, or be evasive, or answer my God damned question with another question." She sat up straighter in the chair as she felt the flames of her fury ignite. At that moment, when as she disturbed the monster lurking within him, her life was the last thing on her mind.  
  
His jaw clenched in controlled rage. She had tried to predict his reaction. Nothing aggravated him more.   
  
"I've torn off faces for less, Agent Starling." He moved swiftly from the floor, finishing his administrations on her ankle, and lingered hauntingly above her. "Like the nurse, back in Baltimore, and she wasn't even being rude." She hadn't seen him like this before. It intimidated her, but did not frighten her.  
  
  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for?"   
  
Her audacity shocked the both of them, knocking Dr. Lecter completely off his grounding. They were both stomping on foreign territory, neither wanting nor willing to step back behind the line.   
  
In an instant he was before her, dangerously close, the silver harpy grazing the side of her neck. Pushing Hannibal Lecter out of his control limits was unwise. He could be as unpredictable as her. She felt the sharp blade pierce her skin as she inhaled deeply. She saw no displeasure on his face as she winced.  
  
  
  
His hand reached down and grasped the front of her night top, yanking her closely toward him. She groaned as he forced her weight onto the recently dressed injury. He pulled tighter and soon he had her standing before him, they were of similar height.  
  
"I think you've forgotten who's in charge of this little game, Clarice." His voice was challenging, but hardly threatening. She turned her head away from his demanding attention, thankful that the silk shirt was long enough to cover the tops of her thighs.  
  
  
  
"So Brave, my little Clarice. Something Daddy taught you no doubt"   
  
That hit home. His words pierced her with target precision. Her head snapped back, her icy glare almost taming the fire in his.  
  
"My. My. What do you think he'd say if he could see you now? Do you think he'd be happy? Would he be proud? Seeing his little girl continue her self-destructive affair with the decaying bureau? Living the life that he couldn't and ignoring her own screams for help..."  
  
That hurt bad. Her mind clicked over in desperate attempt to get him back.   
  
When she spoke she never moved away from him. She didn't have to, her words burned him more than her revulsion could.  
  
"No less proud than Mischa would be of you"  
  
Dr. Lecter was utterly stunned. Her words pricked at his heart, his usual expressionless demeanour was unconsciously set aside. Usually his highly tuned perception offered moments of pre-mediation and calculation, but when he was dealing with matters of Clarice Starling, he often found himself at a loss for thought and plan. Now was no exception.   
  
She watched as his eyes revolved into different shades of maroon. His forehead tightened and several lines formed. She had shot him back, exchanged his verbal bullets with her own.  
  
  
  
She felt his grasp weaken at her top and watched as his eyes dropped to the floor. The sight before her reminded her of Memphis, his watery eyes locked onto hers after she had told him about the lambs...   
  
These critical moments gave birth to realisation. Both stood straight, inches apart, weakened by the other's presence.   
  
" And so it comes to this" He butchered a silence neither knew existed.  
  
In her eyes he saw an apology, a silent request for forgiveness, but he was not hunting for an admission of guilt. In fact, he hadn't realised that she'd known about Mischa, she'd never mentioned it before. His sister's name sounding from her lips was not wounding, rather he found peace in it. Apparently she knew more of him than she was willing to let on. She must of read it on a profile somewhere...  
  
" Dr. Lecter, I shouldn't have..."   
  
His head jerked back upward, seemingly transforming back to his preferred self. He cut her off and raised a finger to her lips to silence her.   
  
" No, Clarice. After all, it *is* quid pro quo." His voice was full, but not as strong as she had grown accustomed to. He wasn't angry. He couldn't hate her for the truth, it only furthered his awe. No one else in the world would say that to him, not even, not in a thousand years.  
  
Strangely enough, she felt guilty. Even after all of the terrible truths he had revealed to her about herself and her father, she still regretted her statement, it felt cheap.  
  
  
  
" I think we've drawn out this game far too long, my dear"  
  
  
  
"I've never considered this to be a game, Dr.Lecter"  
  
"Back to formalities are we? Well *Agent Starling*, I suppose this game is far more metaphorical...if only you would see."   
  
She said nothing; she could hardly keep his gaze. Something burning inside her stomach told her that the conversation to come would be something she couldn't manage, something that would draw out the part of her that was kept locked deep inside her heart.   
  
"What will you do now, Clarice? Slay the monster and return to your keeper?" They were still mere inches apart, his hand curled around to rest around her hips "Or perhaps something else hmm? Surely you are aware of your choices" He watched as she shivered under this touch.  
  
Ten years ago she had stood before his cell, exchanging and confronting truths, which ultimately led to his freedom. Now he was present to return the favour, only he didn't hold the key to her prison, as much as he would love to release her, she was the only one capable of testing her wings. He would not, could not do that for her. The young, vulnerably ambitious agent he'd met a decade ago had grown into a cynical and refined stoic. Time and the Bureau had taken the bloom out of her rose and the lambs were now louder than ever. Like his sister, he wanted to save her, protect her, he only hoped that his second love would not share the same fate as the first.  
  
He stepped closer, noting her lack of defence, and dropped his forehead to hers. Their skin collided and crackled with heat. Heavy notes hung off their hearts, this was purgatory, if she moved her hands she could touch heaven, but at the same time, the flames of hell were licking at her feet.  
  
"This will be my last visit" They both regretted the truth of the statement.  
  
Silent tears crept down her cheeks as her head spun in anguish. Her life was hanging off the proverbial edge, there was nothing more to live for in this life other than her fathers plight, but was she willing to die for the love of a monster? Would she sentence herself to heaven, with the angels that ultimately destroyed her and her father, or to hell to live with the only man who truly knew her, the only man she wanted to know her?  
  
"Clarice" He moved his left hand to rest behind her neck as he angled her face toward his own. In her eyes he found complete confusion, the battle was taking place.  
  
"Whatever you do, don't lie to yourself. Treachery is the closest sin to hell"  
  
His words pushed her over the edge and she watched herself fall into an unknown abyss. Without further thought she brought both of her arms up and over his shoulders and leant into his chest. There was peace. They both shut their eyes as a sense of harmony danced within them, neither was familiar with the emotion.  
  
And then, without his encouragement, Clarice finally took the step she had practised in her head for years. She lifted her chin and brushed her lips against Hannibal Lecter's. At first he was shocked, and remained still, barely capable of watching his little bird further the kiss. But soon, as he adjusted to her warmth, and let go of his rationality, he was responding in full passion, opening her mouth as he caressed her tongue with his own. His heart leaped with joy when he felt the rumble of a moan pass from her body through to his. He moved his hands up her hips and over her sides, pulling her closer to him. They remained like that for quite awhile, time was insignificant, at last their hopes were aligned, considering how long it would last though was a thought neither wished to provoke.  
  
Eventually, with much regret, he pulled away from her to take a deep breath and find her eyes. What he saw was Clarice Starling, the woman, with betraying tears assaulting her cheeks. He didn't know whether to howl his joy or scream in agony.  
  
Finally his butterfly had grown her wings, but where she was about to fly was out of his control. In their silence, she had made her decision; she would take the only path that her mind and heart would agree on. Treachery? Perhaps she was destined to hell, but it was hard to tell whom she had betrayed.  
  
  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
At first I was going to finish here, and leave you all hanging for the rest of your fiction-reading lives...but I've decided to post an epilogue... See? I can be nice...or maybe you wont find it an act of kindness at all. LOL! Have I teased enough? We'll soon see.  
  
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	16. Epilogue: Their Silence

'At The End of the Game'  
  
Epilogue: Their Silence  
  
  
  
Jack Crawford was discovered three hours after he had been shot. Three federal sedans and an ambulance lined up outside of the cabin disturbing a peace that no soul knew existed. Crawford rolled about on the stretcher, the elastic strap of the oxygen mask was irritating his skin.  
  
Two paramedics stood over him, attaching a temporary heart monitor to his chest. He couldn't speak, he had forgotten how. His mind was consumed by thoughts of Clarice.  
  
"Tell them he killed me." Her voice replayed itself in the back of his mind. She had asked him to lie for her, to tell the authorities that Former Special Agent Clarice Starling, of the F.B.I, had been kidnapped and slaughtered by Hannibal, the cannibal, Lecter. The image of her dead was more comforting than the truth. Jealousy. He'd prefer identifying her body, cold and blue, at the morgue, than at the side of Hannibal Lecter.  
  
"Lecter attacked her, right after he shot me. God knows where her body is..."  
  
He could barely manage uttering the words he despised. His statement would be logged and recorded by the very men that worked under him, the agents that walked aimlessly shouting out their obtuse theories and leads, oblivious to the real crime.  
  
The look in her eyes when she ran to his rescue had said it all. She must of thought him to be a senile old man. Lecter ignited a spark in her eyes that he'd never before seen, let alone could have hoped to trigger. He heard the monitor increase its mechanical count as his heartbeat thumped in rage. Lecter had taken her from him ten years ago and corrupted every virtue in her. Slowly he gained control over her every thought, and now she expected him, her boss, to cover for her as she walked off into some morbid fairytale, hand-in-hand with a monster.  
  
"Sir. Can you hear me? It's going to be all right".  
  
But he didn't believe them. Nothing feels right. There is an emptiness in his chest, a loss of sorts. Jack is not a greedy man, but in matters of Clarice Starling and another man, namely Lecter, he was inclined to fits of ridiculous territoriality. He loved Bella, and he adored Starling. His infatuation intensified each time she'd pop her lovely head into his office. He knew it was wrong, but no one ever found out, he was only harming himself. Of course, she was innocent to the knowledge of his train of thought and that was what made the act so shameful. He was her mentor and he had abused the respect she had so amply handed over. At first, he blamed himself for their dual fascination. He lad lead her right into the devil's lair, but eventually he came to realise that he never forced her to talk to him. True, he never gave her much of a choice, but he warned her. Or so he liked to convince himself, to keep the demons at rest. She was responsible for allowing his intrusion of her mind and now she would pay the ultimate price. The exact value Lecter had put on her life he could not comfortably predict. Would he kill her? No, not likely. Maybe he'd drug her and keep her by his side like a little toy for ten years and then drop her back on the Bureau's doorstep when the novelty had worn off. Of course, there was the other possibility. She was running willingly by his side. He hated to think her capable of such a thing. The Starling he knew would cuff the son-of-a-bitch and drag his elegant ass back to Quantico. She wouldn't ask her boss to lie for her. She wouldn't fall in-love with a man like that.  
  
He's not a man Jack. And she's not the woman you thought she was.  
  
The door of the ambulance slid abruptly shut. It was the last time he ever saw the cabin; the holiday getaway he and Bella would run-off to in the middle of the year, just to get away, the place where he'd shoot birds for the simple pleasure of feeling a vibrating bullet leaves its barrel, the place where Hannibal Lecter thieved him of his last chance of living for something.  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~  
  
* Three years and five months later *  
  
Jasmine Elliot always gave an extra effort on the last fives miles of her jog route. Over the past three years she had become well aquatinted with her new surroundings, sticking with a regular track, mixing it up a little when she felt as though habit was morphing into chore. Her dark hair bounced in a short ponytail as the light wind and momentum worked together with her slight anatomy. The illuminating sunlight betrayed the brunette hair coloring and brought out a bright underlay of auburn. Anyone who passed her would look twice. She was an attractive woman and presented her self with an ease that most would envy. Yes, Clarice Starling, former Special Agent, had finally made her way up again.  
  
He was right. She was a deep-roller. But one of her parents was not.  
  
Changing lives was not quite as simple as changing a name. Disappearing was not an easy task; it took a lot of time, fraudulent papers, and cosmetic products to dupe the US government. Of course, she would have much preferred to move overseas, but that had not been a particularly wise option at the time. Settling in took a great deal of adjusting, but she was not greatly disappointed in the decision she had made. Jasmine Elliot was a success. She worked at a local photographic magazine company as a senior editor and made a collaboration of friends. She was nothing like Clarice Starling, there was only one man in the world who knew who she really was. The person she never entirely stopped being.  
  
She hated leaving Ardelia, she was one of the only elements of her old life that she loved. Occasionally she would check up on her, sometimes she even made the news, but she never sent her another letter. There was only ever one. One enclosed with a beautiful ring which she wore everyday, she noted. There wasn't really anyone else to bid farewell.  
  
Jack Crawford's death never really came as a shock. Two weeks after that night his death was posted in the Tattler. Cardiac arrest. His heart had copped a slugging. He died with their secret and she gave thanks to his loyalty every day. On the day of his funeral, amongst the hundreds of flowers and cards from agents and friends, was a single yellow rose on which a single, unsigned note was attached to the stem. It simply read: Thank you. Goodbye.  
  
On approaching her street her mechanical pace began to decelerate. The key she held tight in her hand was a perfect fit to the lock on the oak door of the large home secluded by a large fence at the end of the street. The roomy two-storey establishment, from the inside, resembles a copy of eighteenth century architecture. Inside, peace would be waiting. She unlocked the gate, but before she made the familiar venture up the long garden footpath, she checked her mail.  
  
Today she was praying for a letter. Today it was her birthday.  
  
She took a deep breath and opened the wire latch.  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~  
  
* Nancy, France *  
  
Winter in France was an acrimonious event to say the least. Aloïs Kelt became accustomed to spending a large part of his days indoors. His apartment was situated above a collector's library, so entertainment wasn't far out of reach on his days off.  
  
Today however, was not a day for reading or working, today's task was thinking. Bathing in memoirs and writing to an old friend. That night had opened up an entire floor in his memory palace. So many revelations and so little time.  
  
Perhaps in another life.  
  
Her decision was none less astounding than it was appropriate. He had prepared for both of the possible paths she might elect. Returning to the Bureau was not one of them. He'd rather see her dead than return to that. Her joining him would have been his preference, but the single kiss that she initiated was enough to last him a lifetime. As soon as she broke away from him, he knew what her answer would be. He hated to admit he was disappointed, but here seemed little point in denying it. She would never run with him.  
  
Not in a thousand years. But not because she didn't love him. Because she couldn't love herself enough.  
  
Daddy had his final say on her life and he couldn't compete with that. He was saddened, but not at a complete loss. He could never force her to go with him. She was the one person on the planet whose opinion mattered. Going against her will was not an option.  
  
Her decision simply meant that he would have to give her the passport and ID which held a different surname and history to his own.  
  
Jasmine Elliot.  
  
His mouth formed to whisper the name. Pretty and inconspicuous. It suited her well. It was not common, yet it wasn't the name that you'd question upon hearing.  
  
The postal address and money she'd been reluctant to take at first, however she faced no other choice. She had nothing left in the name of Clarice Starling. Only an old friend that might stand in defence on her trial for aiding and abetting a very well known felon. She didn't have to worry about that, and at least this way, he'd know where she was. He'd never stop watching.  
  
In the three years since they had seen each other, he had refrained from indulging in contacting her. He meant what he had said.  
  
"This will be my last visit."  
  
There are only so many times a man can put his heart on the line and there are limited encountered a monster can participate in without risking his freedom. Given a second chance, he had no idea what her answer would be. He'd never know, he's not one to go back on his word.  
  
As the wind roughly assaulted the darkly tinted windows, Hannibal Lecter sighs and sits down at his roomy mahogany desk. The dimmed light reflects of an empty wine glass, which he considers re-filling.  
  
After.  
  
This year would be different. He could not sever their relationship so completely. Thirteen years was the longest time he had known and wanted to know anyone. In one week it would be her birthday, she will have lived three years longer than Christ. How ironic.  
  
He picked up a fine tip ink pen and began a third letter to his lady, addressed to Jasmine Elliot.  
  
My dearest Clarice,  
  
I've decided to write this year. I hope you don't mind. Thirteen years seems an awful lot to through away wouldn't you agree? I'd like to say you look well, as I'm sure you do, but your recent elevation in life leaves the media without reason to print your beautiful face. They think you are dead, by my hand. My, my, Jack was a good little boy, wasn't he? I wonder if he knew that we were sleeping in separate beds before that solid heart of his gave in. It's a shame really, about the sleeping arrangements.  
  
I can still feel your lips, you know. I often think about what it might have been like if you'd decided to join me. We could've had lot of fun. Do I haunt you as you do me? The end of the game came as a rather terse finale. We we're both built for the game, both hunters unable to give into the concept of being the hunted. Your father would be proud of you, my brave Clarice. Don't ever question that. You we're as loyal to him as I was to my sister in the face of her death. You we're right. She watches me as the nightwatchman looks over you. They are in our stars, and some of those are the same.  
  
I'm considerably happy. Happy but not content. And I fear that you are the opposite. You see we both possess the qualities that will complete each other. No, I'm not talking about romance. No one ever said anything about love. I'll leave that for you to judge.  
  
Your sleeping quite well I presume. You have sentenced yourself to the silence of the lambs, but something still wakes you occasionally in the middle of the night, doesn't it? It's your own screams. The only person you ever failed to save was yourself. You know where the answer to that lies. But alas, the screams will never cease, the warrior in you revels in torment. The same ironclad battler which observes the symmetry of the dungeon scales at Threave.  
  
I wish you all the best, my dear, my butterfly look how far you've flown.  
  
I doubt you'll hear from me again. It'll be easier for the both of us. It was a pleasure, Clarice.  
  
Yours always,  
  
Hannibal Lecter.  
  
P.S. Happy Birthday! You've outdone Christ. I knew you could.  
  
The pen slipped from his hand as single tear fell onto the sweetly scented paper.  
  
A sigh escaped the lips of two people at different ends of the planet. One merely happy, the other simply content. How strange it all seemed; the two loneliest people would not allow themselves to find company in the arms of the other. Cause and effect. Loneliness was their choice, and for that they would pay dearly. This was the end of a game that shaped no winners. In their silence, both screamed into the stars, calling for the other.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Fin.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Well. That's it. It's over. Its been a long ride, and I'm glad to see the end of it. This was my first attempt at writing for a fandom, and I'm glad that I've entered such an elite group. I've made many friends, and I would like to take this opportunity to extend a special to Steel, Kurt and Chameleon, you guys have inspired me more than you know. Also, to the other Lecterphiles; Luna, Sam, Saavik & Tikky, Anouk, Little-Starling, Hanniballover, Nanci, angelofnight, DL and Raven, your all fabulous, thank you a thousand times over for your reviews and support. All those who were kind enough to review my ramblings THANK YOU. Lastly to my mate Clare who printed out every page of this damn story, you are a champ. The drinks are on me ;) I know it all ended a bit angsty, I couldn't help myself. I hope to further some ideas that have popped into my head over the course of writing this piece, but in the meantime, Lecterphiles, your residency at the hospital will commence very shortly. See you then. 


End file.
